HO  OSIER 
CHRONICLE 


MEREDITH 
NICHOLSON 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE.     With  illustrations. 

THE   SIEGE  OF  THE   SEVEN    SUITORS      With 
illustrations. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NFW  YORK 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 


SYLVIA  AND  PROFESSOR  KELTON 


A  HOOSIER 
CHRONICLE 

MEREDITH    NICHOLSON 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  F.  C.   YOHN 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

ftiliersibe  press  Cambridge 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,    1912,    BY   MEREDITH    NICHOLSON 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  March  iqi2 


TO 
EVANS  WOOLLEN,  ESQ, 


The  wise  know  that  foolish  legislation  is  a  rope 
of  sand  which  perishes  in  the  twisting ;  that  the 
State  must  follow  and  not  lead  the  character 
and  progress  of  the  citizen ;  the  strongest  usurper 
is  quickly  got  rid  of ;  and  they  only  who  build  on 
Ideas,  build  for  eternity ;  and  that  the  form  of 
government  which  prevails  is  the  expression  of 
what  cultivation  exists  in  the  population  which 
permits  it.  The  law  is  only  a  memorandum.  We 
are  superstitious,  and  esteem  the  statute  some 
what  ;  so  much  life  as  it  has  in  the  character  of 
living  men  is  its  force. 

EMERSON:  Politics. 


282481 


CONTENTS 

I.  MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS  .       .              i 

II.  SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING  •       •       20 

III.  A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.  OWEN'S  .    39 

IV.  WE  LEARN   MORE  OF   SYLVIA               .  .           .           62 

V.  INTRODUCING  MR.  DANIEL  HARWOOD  ...    79 

VI.  HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN  .                       89 

VII.  SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN     .  •  iJ3 

VIII.  SILK  STOCKINGS  AND  BLUE  OVERALLS          .        •      136 

IX.  DANIEL  HARWOOD  RECEIVES  AN  OFFER    .        .        -152 

X.    IN  THE   BOORDMAN   BUILDING  •         l68 

XI.  THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK    .  .        •        •  *93 
XII.  BLURRED  WINDOWS 

XIII.  THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN     .  ...  225 

XIV.  THE  PASSING  OF  ANDREW  KELTON  ...      246 
XV.  A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB  .        •        -257 

XVI.  "STOP,  LOOK,  LISTEN"          .  ...      271 

XVII.  A  STROLL  ACROSS  THE  CAMPUS         ...       -  288 

XVIII.  THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD    .  •       •       •      297 

XIX.  THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS     .  •       •       •  32i 

(vii) 


CONTENTS 

XX.   INTERVIEWS  IN  Two  KEYS 350 

XXI.  A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED        ....  374 
XXII.  THE  GRAY  SISTERHOOD 393 

XXIII.  A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE          .        .        .  403 

XXIV.  A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL         .        .        .418 
XXV.  THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE         .        .        .  439 

XXVI.  APRIL  VISTAS 460 

XXVII.  HEAT  LIGHTNING .  474 

XXVIII.  A  CHEERFUL  BRINGER  OF  BAD  TIDINGS       .       .      497 
XXIX.  A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR          .       .        .        .511 

XXX.  THE  KING  HATH  SUMMONED  HIS  PARLIAMENT       .      534 
XXXI.   SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS    ......  542 

XXXII.  "MY  BEAUTIFUL  ONE" 560 

XXXIII.  THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 570 

XXXIV.  WE   GO  BACK  TO  THE   BEGINNING  .          .  591 

A  POSTSCRIPT  BY  THE  CHRONICLER          .       .        .  602 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

SYLVIA  AND  PROFESSOR  KELTON Frontispiece 

WHOEVER  WROTE  THAT  LETTER  WAS  TROUBLED  ABOUT  SYLVIA  284 
A  SUDDEN  FIERCE  ANGER  BURNED  IN  HER  HEART  .  .  .  458 
SYLVIA  MUST  KNOW  JUST  WHAT  WE  KNOW  .  ...  556 

From  drawings  by  F.  C.  Yohn 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

CHAPTER  I 

MY  LADY  OF   THE   CONSTELLATIONS 

SYLVIA  was  reading  in  her  grandfather's  library 
when  the  bell  tinkled.    Professor  Kelton  had 
few  callers,  and  as  there  was  never  any  cer 
tainty    that    the    maid-of-all-work    would  trouble 
herself  to  answer,  Sylvia  put  down  her  book  and 
went  to   the  door.    Very  likely  it  was  a  student 
or  a  member  of  the  faculty,  and  as  her  grandfather 
was  not  at  home  Sylvia  was  quite  sure  that  the  in 
terruption  would  be  the  briefest. 

The  Kelton  cottage  stood  just  off  the  campus,  and 
was  separated  from  it  by  a  narrow  street  that 
curved  round  the  college  and  stole,  after  many  twists 
and  turns,  into  town.  This  thoroughfare  was  called 
" Buckeye  Lane,"  or  more  commonly  the  "Lane." 
The  college  had  been  planted  literally  in  the  wilder 
ness  by  its  founders,  at  a  time  when  Montgomery, 
for  all  its  dignity  as  the  seat  of  the  county  court,  was 
the  most  colorless  of  Hoosier  hamlets,  save  only  as 
the  prevailing  mud  colored  everything.  Buckeye 
Lane  was  originally  a  cow-path,  in  the  good  old 
times  when  every  reputable  villager  kept  a  red  cow 
and  pastured  it  in  the  woodlot  that  subsequently 
became  Madison  Athletic  Field.  In  those  days  the 


A   HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Madison  faculty,  and  their  wives  and  daughters, 
seeking  social  diversion  among  the  hospitable  town- 
folk,  picked  their  way  down  the  Lane  by  lantern 
light.  An  ignorant  municipal  council  had  later,  when 
natural  gas  threatened  to  boom  the  town  into  city- 
hood,  changed  Buckeye  Lane  to  University  Avenue, 
but  the  community  refused  to  countenance  any  such 
impious  trifling  with  tradition.  And  besides,  Madi 
son  prided  herself  then  as  now  on  being  a  college 
that  taught  the  humanities  in  all  soberness,  accord 
ing  to  ideals  brought  out  of  New  England  by  its 
founders.  The  proposed  change  caused  an  historic 
clash  between  town  and  gown  in  which  the  gown 
triumphed.  University  forsooth! 

Professor  Kelton's  house  was  guarded  on  all  sides 
by  trees  and  shrubbery,  and  a  tall  privet  hedge  shut 
it  off  from  the  Lane.  He  tended  with  his  own  hands 
a  flower  garden  whose  roses  were  the  despair  of  all 
the  women  of  the  community.  The  clapboards  of 
the  simple  story-and-a-half  cottage  had  faded  to  a 
dull  gray,  but  the  little  plot  of  ground  in  which  the 
house  stood  was  cultivated  with  scrupulous  care. 
The  lawn  was  always  fresh  and  crisp,  the  borders 
of  privet  were  neatly  trimmed  and  the  flower  beds 
disposed  effectively.  A  woman  would  have  seen 
at  once  that  this  was  a  man's  work;  it  was  all  a 
little  too  regular,  suggesting  engineering  methods 
rather  than  polite  gardening. 

Once  you  had  stepped  inside  the  cottage  the  ab 
sence  of  the  feminine  touch  was  even  more  strikingly 
apparent.     Book  shelves  crowded  to  the  door,  - 
open  shelves,  that  had  the  effect  of  pressing  at  once 

(2) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

upon  the  visitor  the  most  formidable  of  dingy  vol 
umes,  signifying  that  such  things  were  of  moment 
to  the  master  of  the  house.  There  was  no  parlor, 
for  the  room  that  had  originally  been  used  as  such 
was  now  shelf-hung  and  book-lined,  and  served  as 
an  approach  to  the  study  into  which  it  opened. 
The  furniture  was  old  and  frayed  as  to  upholstery, 
and  the  bric-a-brac  on  an  old-fashioned  what-not 
was  faintly  murmurous  of  some  long- vanished  femi 
nine  hand.  The  scant  lares  and  penates  were  suffi 
cient  to  explain  something  of  this  shiplike  trimness  of 
the  housekeeping.  The  broken  half  of  a  ship's  wheel 
clung  to  the  wall  above  the  narrow  grate,  and  the 
white  marble  mantel  supported  a  sextant,  a  binocu 
lar,  and  other  incidentals  of  a  shipmaster's  profes 
sion.  An  engraving  of  the  battle  of  Trafalgar  and 
a  portrait  of  Farragut  spoke  further  of  the  sea.  If 
we  take  a  liberty  and  run  our  eyes  over  the  book 
shelves  we  find  many  volumes  relating  to  the  de 
velopment  of  sea  power  and  textbooks  of  an  old  vin 
tage  on  the  sailing  of  ships  and  like  matters.  And 
if  we  were  to  pry  into  the  drawers  of  an  old  walnut 
cabinet  in  the  study  we  should  find  illuminative 
data  touching  the  life  of  Andrew  Kelton.  It  is  well 
for  us  to  know  that  he  was  born  in  Indiana,  as  far  as 
possible  from  salt  water;  and  that,  after  being  grad 
uated  from  Annapolis,  he  served  his  country  until 
retired  for  disabilities  due  to  a  wound  received  at 
Mobile  Bay.  He  thereafter  became  and  continued 
for  fifteen  years  the  professor  of  mathematics  and 
astronomy  at  Madison  College,  in  his  native  state; 
and  it  is  there  that  we  find  him,  living  peacefully 

(3) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

\ 

with  his  granddaughter  Sylvia  in  the  shadow  of  the 
college. 

Comfort  had  set  its  seal  everywhere,  but  it  was 
keyed  to  male  ideals  of  ease  and  convenience;  the 
thousand  and  one  things  in  which  women  express 
themselves  were  absent.  The  eye  was  everywhere 
struck  by  the  strict  order  of  the  immaculate  small 
rooms  and  the  snugness  with  which  every  article 
had  been  fitted  to  its  place.  The  professor's  broad 
desk  was  free  of  litter;  his  tobacco  jar  neighbored 
his  inkstand  on  a  clean,  fresh  blotter.  It  is  a  bit 
significant  that  Sylvia,  in  putting  down  her  book 
to  answer  the  bell,  marked  her  place  carefully  with 
an  envelope,  for  Sylvia,  we  may  say  at  once,  was  a 
young  person  disciplined  to  careful  habits. 

"Is  this  Professor  Kelton's?  I  should  like  very 
much  to  see  him,"  said  the  young  man  to  whom  she 
opened. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  but  he  is  n't  at  home,"  replied  Sylvia, 
with  that  directness  which,  we  shall  find,  character 
ized  her  speech. 

The  visitor  was  neither  a  member  of  the  faculty 
nor  a  student,  and  as  her  grandfather  was  particu 
larly  wary  of  agents  she  was  on  guard  against  the 
stranger. 

"It  is  important  for  me  to  see  him.  If  he  will  be 
back  later  I  can  come  again." 

The  young  man  did  not  look  like  an  agent;  he 
carried  no  telltale  insignia.  He  was  tall  and  straight 
and  decidedly  blond,  and  he  smiled  pleasantly  as 
he  fanned  himself  with  his  straw  hat.  Where  his 
brown  hair  parted  there  was  a  cowlick  that  flung 

(4) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

an  untamable  bang  upon  his  forehead,  giving  him 
a  combative  look  that  his  smile  belied.  .  He  was  a 
trifle  too  old  for  a  senior,  Sylvia  reflected,  soberly 
studying  his  lean,  smooth-shaven  face,  but  not  nearly 
old  enough  to  be  a  professor;  and  except  the  pastor 
of  the  church  which  she  attended,  and  the  physician 
who  had  been  called  to  see  her  in  her  childish  ail 
ments,  all  men  in  her  world  were  either  students  or 
teachers.  The  town  men  were  strange  beings,  whom 
Professor  Kelton  darkly  called  Philistines,  and  their 
ways  and  interests  were  beyond  her  comprehension. 

"If  you  will  wait  I  think  I  may  be  able  to  find  him. 
He  may  have  gone  to  the  library  or  to  the  observ 
atory,  or  for  a  walk.  Won't  you  please  come  in?" 

Her  gravity  amused  the  young  man,  who  did  not 
think  it  so  serious  a  matter  to  gain  an  interview  with 
a  retired  professor  in  a  small  college.  They  debated, 
with  much  formality  on  both  sides,  whether  Sylvia 
should  seek  her  grandfather  or  merely  direct  the 
visitor  to  places  where  he  would  be  likely  to  find 
him;  but  as  the  stranger  had  never  seen  Professor 
Kelton,  they  concluded  that  it  would  be  wiser  for 
Sylvia  to  do  the  seeking. 

She  ushered  the  visitor  into  the  library,  where 
it  was  cooler  than  on  the  doorstep,  and  turned 
toward  the  campus.  It  is  to  be  noted  that  Sylvia 
moves  with  the  buoyant  ease  of  youth.  She  crosses 
the  Lane  and  is  on  her  own  ground  now  as  she  fol 
lows  the  familiar  walks  that  link  the  college  build 
ings  together.  The  students  who  pass  her  grin  cheer 
fully  and  tug  at  their  caps;  several,  from  a  distance, 
wave  a  hand  at  her.  One  young  gentleman,  leaning 

(5) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

from  the  upper  window  of  the  chemical  laboratory, 
calls,  "  Hello,  Sylvia,"  and  jerks  his  head  out  of  sight. 
Sylvia's  chin  lifts  a  trifle,  disdainful  of  the  impudence 
of  sophomores.  She  has  recognized  the  culprit's  voice, 
and  will  deal  with  him  later  in  her  own  fashion. 

Sylvia  is  olive-skinned  and  dark  of  eye.  And  they 
are  interesting  eyes  —  those  of  Sylvia,  luminous  and 
eager  —  and  not  fully  taken  in  at  a  glance.  They 
call  us  back  for  further  parley  by  reason  of  their 
grave  and  steady  gaze.  There  is  something  appeal 
ing  in  her  that  takes  hold  of  the  heart,  and  we  re 
member  her  after  she  has  passed  us  by.  We  shall 
not  pretend  that  her  features  are  perfect,  but  their 
trifling  irregularities  contribute  to  an  impression  of 
individuality  and  character.  Her  mouth,  for  exam 
ple,  is  a  bit  large,  but  it  speaks  for  good  humor. 
Even  at  fifteen,  her  lips  suggest  firmness  and  deci 
sion.  Her  forehead  is  high  and  broad,  and  her  head 
is  well  set  on  straight  shoulders.  Her  dark  hair  is 
combed  back  smoothly  and  braided  and  the  braid 
is  doubled  and  tied  with  a  red  ribbon.  The  same 
color  flashes  in  a  flowing  bow  at  her  throat.  These 
notes  will  serve  to  identify  Sylvia  as  she  crosses  the 
campus  of  this  honorable  seat  of  learning  on  a  June 
afternoon. 

This  particular  June  afternoon  fell  somewhat  later 
than  the  second  consulship  of  Grover  Cleveland  and 
well  within  the  ensuing  period  of  radicalism.  The 
Hoosiers  with  whom  we  shall  have  to  do  are  not 
those  set  forth  by  Eggleston,  but  the  breed  visible 
to-day  in  urban  marketplaces,  who  submit  them 
selves  meekly  to  tailors  and  schoolmasters.  There 

(6) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

is  always  corn  in  their  Egypt,  and  no  village  is  so 
small  but  it  lifts  a  smokestack  toward  a  sky  that 
yields  nothing  to  Italy's.  The  heavens  are  a  sounding- 
board  devised  for  the  sole  purpose  of  throwing  back 
the  mellifluous  voices  of  native  orators.  At  the  cross 
roads  store,  philosophers,  perched  upon  barrel  and 
soap-box  (note  the  soap-box),  clinch  in  endless  argu 
ment.  Every  county  has  its  Theocritus  who  sings  the 
nearest  creek,  the  bloom  of  the  may-apple,  the  squir 
rel  on  the  stake-and-rider  fence,  the  rabbit  in  the  corn, 
the  paw-paw  thicket  where  fruit  for  the  gods  lures 
farm  boys  on  frosty  mornings  in  golden  autumn. 
In  olden  times  the  French  voyageur,  paddling  his 
canoe  from  Montreal  to  New  Orleans,  sang  cheerily 
through  the  Hoosier  wilderness,  little  knowing  that 
one  day  men  should  stand  all  night  before  bulletin 
boards  in  New  York  and  Boston  awaiting  the  judg 
ment  of  citizens  of  the  Wabash  country  upon  the 
issues  of  national  campaigns.  The  Hoosier,  pon 
dering  all  things  himself,  cares  little  what  Ohio  or 
Illinois  may  think  or  do.  He  ventures  eastward 
to  Broadway  only  to  deepen  his  satisfaction  in 
the  lights  of  Washington  or  Main  Street  at  home. 
He  is  satisfied  to  live  upon  a  soil  more  truly  blessed 
than  any  that  lies  beyond  the  borders  of  his  own 
commonwealth.  No  wonder  Ben  Parker,  of  Henry 
County,  born  in  a  log  cabin,  attuned  his  lyre  to  the 
note  of  the  first  blue-bird  and  sang,  — 

'T  is  morning  and  the  days  are  long. 

It  is  always  morning  and  all  the  days  are  long  in 
Indiana. 

(7) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Sylvia  was  three  years  old  when  she  came  to  her 
grandfather's.  This  she  knew  from  the  old  servant; 
but  where  her  earlier  years  had  been  spent  or  why 
or  with  whom  she  did  not  know ;  and  when  her  grand 
father  was  so  kind,  and  her  studies  so  absorbing,  it 
did  not  seem  worth  while  to  trouble  about  any  state 
of  existence  antedating  her  first  clear  recollections 
-  which  were  of  days  punctuated  and  governed  by 
the  college  bell,  and  of  people  who  either  taught  or 
studied,  with  glimpses  now  and  then  of  the  women 
and  children  of  the  professors'  households.  There 
were  times,  when  the  winds  whispered  sharply  round 
the  cottage  on  winter  nights,  or  when  the  snow  lay 
white  on  the  campus  and  in  the  woods  beyond,  when 
some  memory  taunted  her,  teasing  and  luring  afar 
off;  and  once,  as  she  walked  with  her  grandfather 
on  a  day  in  March,  and  he  pointed  to  a  flock  of  wild 
geese  moving  en  echelon  toward  the  Kankakee  and 
the  far  white  Canadian  frontier,  she  experienced  a 
similar  vague  thrill  of  consciousness,  as  though  re 
membering  that  elsewhere,  against  blue  spring  sky, 
she  had  watched  similar  migrant  battalions  sweep 
ing  into  the  north. 

She  had  never  known  a  playmate.  The  children 
of  the  college  circle  went  to  school  in  town,  while  she, 
from  her  sixth  year,  was  taught  systematically  by 
her  grandfather.  The  faithful  oversight  of  Mary, 
the  maid-of-all-work,  constituted  Sylvia's  sole  ac 
quaintance  with  anything  approximating  maternal 
care.  Mary,  unknown  to  Sylvia  and  Professor 
Kelton,  sometimes  took  counsel  --  the  privilege  of 
her  long  residence  in  the  Lane  —  of  some  of  the  pro- 

(8) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

fessors'  wives,  who  would  have  been  glad  to  help  di 
rectly  but  for  the  increasing  reserve  that  had  latterly 
marked  Professor  Kelton's  intercourse  with  his 
friends  and  neighbors. 

Sylvia  was  vaguely  aware  of  the  existence  of  social 
distinctions,  but  in  Buckeye  Lane  these  were  en 
tirely  negligible;  they  were,  in  fact,  purely  academic, 
to  be  studied  with  other  interesting  phenomena  by 
spectacled  professors  in  quiet  laboratories.  It  may, 
however,  be  remarked  that  Sylvia  had  sometimes 
gazed,  not  without  a  twinge,  upon  the  daughter  of 
a  village  manufacturer  whom  she  espied  flashing 
through  the  Lane  on  a  black  pony,  and  this  young 
person  symbolized  all  worldly  grandeur  to  Sylvia's 
adoring  vision.  Sylvia  knew  the  world  chiefly  from 
her  reading,  —  Miss  Alcott's  and  Mrs.  Whitney's  sto 
ries  at  first,  and  "St.  Nicholas"  every  month,  on  a 
certain  day  that  found  her  meeting  the  postman  far 
across  the  campus;  and  she  had  read  all  the  "Frank" 
books,  —  the  prized  possessions  of  a  neighbor's  boy, 
—  from  the  Maine  woods  through  the  gunboat  and 
prairie  exploits  of  that  delectable  hero.  At  fourteen 
she  had  fallen  upon  Scott  and  Bulwer  and  had  de 
voured  them  voraciously  during  the  long  vacation, 
in  shady  corners  of  the  deserted  campus;  and  she 
was  now  fixing  Dickens's  characters  ineffaceably 
in  her  mind  by  Cruikshank's  drawings.  She  was  well 
grounded  in  Latin  and  had  a  fair  reading  knowledge 
of  French  and  German.  It  was  true  of  Sylvia,  then 
and  later,  that  poetry  did  not  greatly  interest  her, 
and  this  had  been  attributed  to  her  undoubted  genius 
for  mathematics.  She  was  old  for  her  age,  people 

(9) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

said,  and  the  Lane  wondered  what  her  grandfather 
meant  to  do  with  her. 

The  finding  of  Professor  Kelton  proves  to  be,  as 
Sylvia  had  surmised,  a  simple  matter.  He  is  at 
work  in  a  quiet  alcove  of  the  college  library,  a  man 
just  entering  sixty,  with  white,  close-trimmed  hair 
and  beard.  The  eyes  he  raises  to  his  granddaugh 
ter  are  like  hers,  and  there  is  a  further  resemblance 
in  the  dark  skin.  His  face  brightens  and  his  eyes 
kindle  as  he  clasps  Sylvia's  slender,  supple  hand. 

"It  must  be  a  student  —  are  you  sure  he  isn't 
a  student?" 

Sylvia  was  confident  of  it. 

"Very  likely  an  agent,  then.  They're  very  clever 
about  disguising  themselves.  I  never  see  agents,  you 
know,  Sylvia." 

Sylvia  declared  her  belief  that  the  stranger  was 
not  an  agent,  and  the  professor  glanced  at  his  book 
reluctantly. 

"Very  well;  I  will  see  him.  I  wish  you  would  run 
down  these  references  for  me,  Sylvia.  Don't  trouble 
about  those  I  have  checked  off.  It  can't  be  possible 
I  am  following  a  false  clue.  I  'm  sure  I  printed  that 
article  in  the  'Popular  Science  Monthly,'  for  I  re 
call  perfectly  that  John  Fiske  wrote  me  a  letter 
about  it.  Come  home  when  you  have  finished  and 
we'll  take  our  usual  walk  together." 

Professor  Kelton  had  relinquished  his  chair  in  the 
college  when  Sylvia  came  to  live  with  him  twelve 
years  before  the  beginning  of  this  history,  and  had 
shut  himself  away  from  the  world ;  but  no  one  knew 
why.  Sylvia  was  the  child  of  his  only  daughter,  of 

do) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

whom  no  one  ever  spoke,  though  the  older  members 
of  the  faculty  had  known  her,  as  they  had  known  also 
the  professor's  wife,  now  dead  many  years.  Profes 
sor  Kelton  had  changed  with  the  coming  of  Sylvia, 
so  his  old  associates  said ;  and  their  wives  wondered 
that  he  should  have  undertaken  the  bringing-up  of 
the  child  without  other  aid  than  that  of  the  Irish 
woman  who  had  cooked  his  meals  and  taken  care  of 
the  house  ever  since  Mrs.  Kelton's  death.  He  was 
still  a  special  lecturer  at  Madison,  and  he  derived 
some  income  from  the  sale  of  his  textbooks  in  mathe 
matics,  which  he  revised  from  time  to  time  to  bring 
them  in  touch  with  changing  educational  methods. 
He  had  given  as  his  reason  for  resigning  a  wish  to 
secure  leisure  for  writing,  and  he  was  known  to  suffer 
severely  at  times  from  the  wounds  that  had  driven 
him  from  active  naval  service.  But  those  who  knew 
him  best  imagined  that  he  bore  in  his  breast  deeper 
wounds  than  those  of  war.  These  old  friends  of  the 
college  circle  wondered  sometimes  at  the  strange 
passing  of  his  daughter  and  only  child,  who  had  van 
ished  from  their  sight  as  a  girl,  never  to  return.  They 
were  men  of  quality,  these  teachers  who  had  been 
identified  with  the  college  so  long;  they  and  their 
households  were  like  a  large  family;  and  when 
younger  men  joined  the  faculty  and  inquired,  or 
when  their  wives  asked  perfectly  natural  questions 
about  Professor  Kelton  and  Sylvia,  their  inquiries 
were  met  by  an  evasion  that  definitely  dismissed 
the  matter.  And  out  of  this  spirit,  which  marked 
all  the  social  intercourse  of  the  college  folk,  affection 
for  Professor  Kelton  steadily  increased,  and  its  light 

(ii) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

fell  upon  Sylvia  abundantly.  There  was  a  particular 
smile  for  her  into  which  much  might  be  read ;  there 
was  a  tenderness  manifested  toward  her  which  com 
municated  itself  to  the  students,  who  were  proud 
to  win  her  favor  and  were  forever  seeking  little  ex 
cuses  for  bandying  words  with  her  when  they  met. 

The  tradition  of  Professor  Kelton's  scholarship 
had  descended  to  Sylvia  amusingly.  She  had  never 
attended  school,  but  he  had  taught  her  systematically 
at  home,  and  his  interests  were  hers.  The  students 
attributed  to  her  the  most  abstruse  knowledge,  and 
stories  of  her  precocity  were  repeated  proudly  by  the 
Lane  folk.  Many  evenings  spent  with  her  grand 
father  at  the  observatory  had  not  been  wasted.  She 
knew  the  paths  of  the  stars  as  she  knew  the  walks  of 
the  campus.  Dr.  Wandless,  the  president  emeritus, 
addressed  her  always  as  "My  Lady  of  the  Constel 
lations,"  and  told  her  solemnly  that  from  much 
peering  through  the  telescope  she  had  coaxed  the 
stars  into  her  own  eyes.  Professor  Kelton  and  his 
granddaughter  were  thus  fully  identified  with  the 
college  and  its  business,  which  was  to  impart  know 
ledge, —  an  old-fashioned  but  not  yet  wholly  neg 
lected  function  at  Madison.  She  reckoned  time  by 
semesters;  the  campus  had  always  been  her  play 
ground;  and  the  excitements  of  her  life  were  those  of 
a  small  and  sober  academic  community.  The  dark 
est  tragedies  she  had  known  had,  indeed,  been  re 
lated  to  the  life  of  the  college,  --  the  disciplining  of 
the  class  of  '01  for  publishing  itself  in  numerals  on 
the  face  of  the  court-house  clock;  the  recurring  con 
flicts  between  town  and  gown  that  shook  the  com- 

(12) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

munity  every  Washington's  birthday;  the  predatory 
habits  of  the  Greek  professor's  cow,  that  botanized 
freely  in  alien  gardens  and  occasionally  immured 
herself  in  Professor  Kelton's  lettuce  frames;  these 
and  like  heroic  matters  had  marked  the  high  lati 
tudes  of  Sylvia's  life.  In  the  long  vacations,  when 
most  of  the  faculty  sought  the  Northern  lakes,  the 
Keltons  remained  at  home;  and  Sylvia  knew  all 
the  trees  of  the  campus,  and  could  tell  you  just 
what  books  she  had  read  under  particular  maples 
or  elms. 

Andrew  Kelton  was  a  mathematical  scholar  of 
high  attainments.  In  the  field  of  astronomy  he  had 
made  important  discoveries,  and  he  carried  on  an 
extensive  correspondence  with  observers  of  stellar 
phenomena  in  many  far  corners  of  the  world.  His 
name  in  the  Madison  catalogue  was  followed  by  a 
bewildering  line  of  cabalistic  letters  testifying  to  the 
honor  in  which  other  institutions  of  learning  held 
him.  Wishing  to  devise  for  him  a  title  that  com 
bined  due  recognition  of  both  his  naval  exploits  and 
his  fine  scholarship,  the  undergraduates  called  him 
"Capordoc";  and  it  was  part  of  a  freshman's  ini 
tiation  to  learn  that  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  he 
was  to  stand  and  uncover  when  Professor  Kelton 
passed  by. 

Professor  Kelton's  occasional  lectures  in  the  col 
lege  were  a  feature  of  the  year,  and  were  given  in 
Mills  Hall  to  accommodate  the  large  audience  of 
students  and  town  folk  that  never  failed  to  assemble 
every  winter  to  hear  him.  For  into  discourses  on  as 
tronomy  he  threw  an  immense  amount  of  knowledge 

(13) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

of  all  the  sciences,  and  once  every  year,  though  no 
one  ever  knew  when  he  would  be  moved  to  relate 
it,  he  told  a  thrilling  story  of  how  once,  guided  by 
the  stars,  he  had  run  a  Confederate  blockade  in  a 
waterlogged  ironclad  under  a  withering  fire  from  the 
enemy's  batteries.  And  when  he  had  finished  and 
the  applause  ceased,  he  glanced  about  with  an  air 
of  surprise  and  said:  " Thank  you,  young  gentle 
men;  it  pleases  me  to  find  you  so  enthusiastic  in 
your  pursuit  of  knowledge.  Learn  the  stars  and  you 
won't  get  lost  in  strange  waters.  As  we  were  saying 
It  was  because  of  still  other  stories  which  he 
never  told  or  referred  to,  but  which  are  written 
in  the  nation's  history,  that  the  students  loved  him; 
and  it  was  for  this  that  they  gave  him  at  every  op 
portunity  their  lustiest  cheer. 

The  professor  found  the  stranger  Sylvia  had  an 
nounced  waiting  for  him  at  the  cottage.  The  young 
man  did  not  mention  his  own  name  but  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  sealed  letter. 

"Is  this  Professor  Andrew  Kelton?  I  am  to  give 
you  this  letter  and  wait  for  an  answer." 

Professor  Kelton  sat  down  at  his  desk  and  slit 
the  envelope.  The  letter  covered  only  one  page  and 
he  read  slowly  to  the  end.  He  then  re-read  the  whole 
carefully,  and  placed  the  sheet  on  his  desk  and  laid 
a  weight  upon  it  before  he  faced  the  messenger.  He 
passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  stroked  his 
beard,  and  said,  speaking  slowly,  — 

"You  were  to  bring  this  letter  and  bear  back  an 
answer  to  the  writer,  but  you  were  instructed  not  to 
discuss  it  in  any  way  or  disclose  the  name  or  the 

(14) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

residence  of  the  person  who  sent  you.   So  much  I 
learn  from  the  letter  itself." 

"  Yes,  sir.    I  know  nothing  of  the  contents  of  the 
letter.   I  was  told  to  deliver  it  and  to  carry  back  the 


answer." 


"Very  good,  sir.  You  have  fulfilled  your  mission. 
Please  note  carefully  what  I  say.  The  reply  is  No. 
There  must  be  no  mistake  about  that,  —  do  you 
understand?" 

"I  am  to  report  that  you  answered  'No'." 

"That  is  correct,  sir,"  replied  Professor  Kelton 
quietly.  The  young  man  rose,  and  the  Professor 
followed  him  to  the  door. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  trouble;  it  has  been  a  warm 
day,  the  warmest  of  the  season.  Good-afternoon, 


sir." 


He  watched  the  young  fellow's  prompt  exit 
through  the  gate  in  the  hedge  to  the  Lane  and  then 
returned  to  the  library,  where  he  re-read  the  letter. 
Now  that  he  was  alone  he  relaxed  somewhat;  his 
manner  expressed  mingled  trepidation  and  curiosity. 
The  letter  was  type-written  and  was  neither  dated 
nor  signed.  He  carried  it  to  the  window  and  held 
it  against  the  sunlight,  but  there  was  not  even  a 
watermark  by  which  it  might  be  traced.  Nor  was 
there  anything  in  the  few  straightforward  sentences 
that  proved  suggestive.  The  letter  ran :  — 

Your  granddaughter  has  reached  an  age  at  which 
her  maintenance  and  education  require  serious  con 
sideration.  A  friend  who  cannot  be  known  in  the 
matter  wishes  to  provide  a  sum  of  money  to  be  held 

(15) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  expended  by  you  for  her  benefit.  No  obliga 
tions  of  any  sort  will  be  incurred  by  you  in  accepting 
this  offer.  It  is  hardly  conceivable  that  you  will 
decline  it,  though  it  is  quite  optional  with  you  to 
do  so.  It  will  not,  however,  be  repeated. 

Kindly  designate  by  a  verbal  "Yes"  or  "No"  to 
the  bearer  whether  you  accept  or  decline.  The 
messenger  is  a  stranger  to  the  person  making  the 
offer  and  the  contents  of  this  communication  are 
unknown  to  him.  If  you  wish  to  avail  yourself  of 
this  gift,  the  amount  will  be  paid  in  cash  immediately, 
and  it  is  suggested  that  you  refrain  from  mention 
ing  the  matter  to  your  granddaughter  in  any  way. 

Professor  Kelton  had  given  his  answer  to  the  mes 
senger  unhesitatingly,  and  the  trouble  reflected  in 
his  dark  eyes  was  not  due,  we  may  assume,  to  any 
regret  for  his  negative  reply,  but  to  the  jangling  of 
old,  harsh  chords  of  memory.  He  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  the  room,  lost  in  reverie;  then  paused  at  his 
desk  and  tore  the  letter  once  across  with  the  evident 
intention  of  destroying  it;  but  he  hesitated,  changed 
his  mind,  and  carried  it  to  his  bedroom.  There  he 
took  from  a  closet  shelf  a  battered  tin  box  marked 
"A.  Kelton,  U.S.N."  which  contained  his  commis 
sions  in  the  Navy.  He  sat  down  on  the  bed,  folded 
the  letter  the  long  way  of  the  sheet  and  indorsed  it 
in  pencil:  "  Declined."  Then  he  slipped  it  under  the 
faded  tape  that  bound  the  official  papers  together, 
and  locked  and  replaced  the  box. 

Sylvia  meanwhile  had  found  the  review  article 
noted  on  her  grandfather's  memorandum,  and  leav- 

(16) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

ing  a  receipt  with  the  librarian  started  home  with 
the  book  under  her  arm.  Halfway  across  the  campus 
she  met  her  grandfather's  caller,  hurrying  town  ward. 
He  lifted  his  hat,  and  Sylvia  paused  a  moment  to 
ask  if  he  had  found  her  grandfather. 

"  Yes;  thank  you.  My  business  did  n't  take  much 
time,  you  see.  I  'm  sorry  I  put  you  to  so  much 
bother." 

"Oh,  that  was  nothing." 

"  Is  that  new  building  the  college  library?  " 

"  Yes,  "replied  Sylvia.  "  Are  you  a  Madison  man?" 

"No.  I  was  never  here  before.  I  went  to  a  very 
different  college  and"  —  he  hesitated  —  "a  little 
bigger  one." 

"I  suppose  there  are  bigger  colleges,"  Sylvia  re 
marked,  with  the  slightest  accent  on  the  adjective. 

The  young  man  laughed. 

"That's  the  right  spirit!  Madison  needs  no  praise 
from  me;  it  speaks  for  itself.  Is  this  the  nearest 
way  to  the  station?" 

It  had  been  on  Sylvia's  tongue  to  ask  him  the 
name  of  his  college,  but  he  had  perhaps  read  this 
inquiry  in  her  eyes,  and  as  though  suddenly  roused 
by  the  remembrance  of  the  secrecy  that  had  been 
imposed  upon  him,  he  moved  on. 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  he  called  over  his  shoulder. 
11  Thank  you,  very  much." 

He  whistled  softly  to  himself  as  he  continued  on 
his  way,  still  glancing  about  alertly. 

The  manner  of  the  old  professor  in  receiving  the 
letter  and  the  calmness  with  which  he  had  given  his 
reply  minimized  the  importance  of  the  transaction 

(17) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

in  the  mind  of  the  messenger.  He  was  thinking  of 
Sylvia  and  smiling  still  at  her  implication  that  while 
there  were  larger  colleges  than  Madison  there  was 
none  better.  He  turned  to  look  again  at  the  college 
buildings  closely  clasped  by  their  strip  of  woodland. 
Madison  was  not  a  college  to  sneer  at ;  he  had  scanned 
the  bronze  tablet  on  the  library  wall  that  published 
the  roll  of  her  sons  who  had  served  in  the  Civil  War. 
Many  of  the  names  were  written  high  in  the  state's 
history  and  for  a  moment  they  filled  the  young  man's 
mind. 

As  she  neared  home  Sylvia  met  her  friend  Dr. 
Wandless,  the  former  president,  who  always  had  his 
joke  with  her. 

"  Hail,  Lady  of  the  Constellations!  You  have  been 
looting  the  library,  I  see.  Hast  thou  named  the  stars 
without  a  gun?" 

"That  isn't  right,"  protested  Sylvia.  "You're 
purposely  misquoting.  You've  only  spoiled  Emer 
son's  line  about  the  birds." 

"Bless  me,  I  believe  that's  so!"  laughed  the  old 
gentleman.  "But  tell  me,  Sylvia:  'Canst  thou  bind 
the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades,  or  loose  the  bands 
of  Orion?  Canst  thou  bring  forth  Mazzaroth  in  his 
season?  or  guide  Arcturus  with  his  sons?" 

Sylvia,  with  brightening  eyes  and  a  smile  on  her 
lips,  answered :  - 

" '  Knowest  thou  the  ordinances  of  heaven?  canst 
thou  set  the  dominion  thereof  in  the  earth?" 

"Ah,  if  only  I  could,  Sylvia!"  said  the  old  minis 
ter,  smiling  gravely. 

They  came  in  high  spirits  to  the  parting  of  their 

(18) 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  CONSTELLATIONS 

ways  and  Sylvia  kept  on  through  the  hedge  to  her 
grandfather's  cottage.  The  minister  turned  once, 
a  venerable  figure  with  snowy  beard  and  hair,  and 
beat  the  path  softly  with  his  stick  and  glanced  back, 
as  Sylvia's  red  ribbon  bobbed  through  the  greenery. 

"' Whose  daughter  art  thou?"  he  murmured 
gently. 

Then,  glancing  furtively  about,  he  increased  his 
gait  as  though  to  escape  from  his  own  thoughts;  but 
the  question  asked  of  Bethuel's  daughter  by  Abra 
ham's  servant  came  again  to  his  lips,  and  he  shook 
his  head  as  he  repeated :  — 

'"Whose  daughter  art  thou?" 


CHAPTER   II 

SYLVIA   GOES   VISITING 

HOW  old  did  you  say  you  were,  Sylvia?'' 
"I'm  sixteen  in   October,  grandpa,"  ai 
swered  Sylvia. 

"Is  it  possible!"  murmured  the  professor.  "An 
to  think  that  you've  never  been  to  school." 

"Why,  I've  been  going  to  school  every  day,  a 
most,  ever  since  I  can  remember.  And  have  n't  I  ha 
the  finest  teacher  in  the  world,  all  to  myself?" 

His  face  brightened  responsive  to  her  laugh. 

This  was  at  the  tea-table  —  for  the  Keltons  dine 
at  noon  in  conformity  with  local  custom  —  nearly 
week  after  the  unsigned  letter  had  been  delivered  t 
Andrew  Kelton  by  the  unknown  messenger.  Sylvi 
and  her  grandfather  had  just  returned  from  a  wait 
prolonged  into  the  cool  dusk.  They  sat  at  the  squar 
walnut  table,  where  they  had  so  long  faced  eac 
other  three  times  a  day.  Sylvia  had  never  doubte 
that  their  lives  would  go  on  forever  in  just  this  wa> 
—  that  they  would  always  be,  as  her  grandfathe 
liked  to  put  it,  "shipmates,"  walking  together,  stud} 
ing  together,  sitting  as  they  sat  now,  at  their  simpl 
meals,  with  just  the, same  quaintly  flowered  dishes 
the  same  oddly  turned  teapot,  with  its  attendan 
cream  pitcher  (slightly  cracked  as  to  lip)  and  th 
sugar-bowl,  with  a  laboring  ship  depicted  in  blue  O] 

(20) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

its  curved  side,  which  was  not  related,  even  by  the 
most  remote  cousinship,  to  anything  else  in  the  pan 
try. 

Professor  Kelton  was  unwontedly  preoccupied 
to-night.  Sylvia  saw  that  he  had  barely  touched 
his  strawberries  —  their  first  of  the  season,  though 
they  were  fine  ones  and  the  cream  was  the  thickest. 
She  folded  her  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and 
watched  him  gravely  in  the  light  of  the  four  candles 
whose  flame  flared  in  the  breeze  that  swept  softly 
through  the  dining-room  windows.  Feeling  her 
eyes  upon  him  the  old  gentleman  suddenly  roused 
himself. 

" We've  had  good  times,  haven't  we,  Sylvia? 
And  I  wonder  if  I  have  really  taught  you  anything. 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  been  sending  you  to  school 
with  the  other  youngsters  about  here,  but  the  fact 
is  that  I  never  saw  a  time  when  I  wanted  to  part  with 
you !  You  've  been  a  fine  little  shipmate,  but  you  're 
not  so  little  any  more.  Sixteen  your  next  birthday! 
If  that's  so  it  isn't  best  for  us  to  go  on  this  way. 
You  must  try  your  oar  in  deeper  water.  You  've  out 
grown  me —  and  I'm  a  dull  old  fellow  at  best.  You 
must  go  where  you  will  meet  other  girls,  and  deal 
with  a  variety  of  teachers,  —  not  just  one  dingy 
old  fellow  like  me.  Have  you  ever  thought  what 
kind  of  a  school  you'd  like  to  go  to?" 

11 1  don't  believe  I  have;  I  don't  know  much  about 
schools." 

"Well,  don't  you  think  you'd  like  to  get  away 
from  so  much  mathematics  and  learn  things  that 
will  fit  you  to  be  entertaining  and  amusing?  You 

(21) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

know  I've  taught  you  a  lot  of  things  just  to  amuse 
myself  and  they  can  never  be  of  the  slightest  use  to 
you.  I  suppose  you  are  the  only  girl  of  your  age 
in  America  who  can  read  the  sextant  and  calculate 
latitude  and  longitude.  But,  bless  me,  what's  the 
use?" 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only—" 

"Only  what? "  he  encouraged  her.  He  was  greatly 
interested  in  getting  her  point  of  view,  and  it  was 
perfectly  clear  that  a  great  idea  possessed  her. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  go  to  college,  that  would  be 
the  finest  thing  in  the  world!" 

"You  think  that  would  be  more  interesting  than 
boarding-school?  If  you  go  to  college  they  may  re 
quire  Greek  and  you  don't  even  know  what  the  let 
ters  look  like!" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  a  little  about  it!" 

"I  think  not,  Sylvia.    How  could  you?" 

"Oh,  the  letters  were  so  queer,  I  learned  them  just 
for  fun  out  of  an  old  textbook  I  found  on  the  campus 
one  day.  Nobody  ev£r  came  to  claim  it,  so  I  read 
it  all  through  and  learned  all  the  declensions  and 
vocabularies,  though,  I  only  guessed  at  the  pronun 
ciation." 

Professor  Keltoh  was  greatly  amused.  "You 
tackled  Greek  just'  for  fun,  did  you?"  he  laughed; 
then,  after  a  moment's  absorption:  "I'm  going  to 
Indianapolis  to-morrow  and  I'll  take  you  with  me, 
if  you  care  to  go  #long.  In  fact,  I  Ve  written  to  Mrs. 
Owen  that  we'r/e  coming,  and  I've  kept  this  as  a 
little  surprise  fo/r  you." 

So,  after  an/  early  breakfast  the  next  morning, 

(22) 


i 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

they  were  off  for  the  station  in  one  of  those  disreput 
able,  shaky  village  hacks  that  Dr.  Wandless  always 
called  'Mark  Icarian  birds,"  with  their  two  bags 
piled  on  the  seat  before  them.  On  the  few  railway 
journeys  Sylvia  remembered,  she  had  been  carried 
on  half-fare  tickets,  an  ignominy  which  she  recalled 
with  shame.  To-day  she  was  a  full-grown  passenger 
with  a  seat  to  herself,  her  grandfather  being  engaged 
through  nearly  the  whole  of  their  hour's  swift  jour 
ney  in  a  political  discussion  with  a  lawyer  who  was 
one  of  the  college  trustees. 

"  I  told  Mrs.  Owen  not  to  meet  us;  it's  a  nuisance 
having  to  meet  people,"  said  the  professor  when  they 
had  reached  the  city.  "  But  she  always  sends  a  car 
riage  when  she  expects  me." 

As  they  stepped  out  upon  the  street  a  station 
wagon  driven  by  an  old  negro  appeared  promptly  at 
the  curb. 

"Mawnin',  Cap'n;  mawnin'!  Yo'  just  on  time. 
Mis'  Sally  tole  me  to  kerry  you  all  right  up  to  the 
haouse.  Yes,  seh." 

Sylvia  did  not  know,  what  later  historians  may 
be  interested  to  learn  from  these  pages,  that  the 
station  wagon,  drawn  by  a  single  horse,  was  for  years 
the  commonest  vehicle  known  to  the  people  of  the 
Hoosier  capital.  The  panic  of  1873  had  hit  the  town 
so  hard,  the  community's  punishment  for  its  sins 
of  inflation  had  been  so  drastic,  that  it  had  accepted 
meekly  the  rebuke  implied  in  its  designation  as  a 
one-horse  town.  In  1884  came  another  shock  to 
confidence,  and  in  1893,  still  another  earthquake, 
as  though  the  knees  of  the  proud  must  at  intervals 

(23) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

be  humbled.  The  one-horse  station  wagon  con 
tinued  to  symbolize  the  quiet  domesticity  of  the 
citizens  of  the  Hoosier  capital :  women  of  unimpeach 
able  social  standing  carried  their  own  baskets  through 
the  aisles  of  the  city  market  .or  drove  home  with 
onion  tops  waving  triumphantly  on  the  seat  beside 
them.  We  had  not  yet  hitched  our  wagon  to  a  gaso 
line  tank,  but  traffic  regulations  were  enforced  by 
cruel  policemen,  to  the  terror  of  women  long  given 
to  leisurely  manoeuvres  on  the  wrong  side  of  our 
busiest  thoroughfares.  The  driving  of  cattle  through 
Washington  Street  did  not  cease  until  1888,  when 
cobbles  yielded  to  asphalt.  It  was  in  that  same  year 
that  Benjamin  Harrison  was  chosen  to  the  seat  of  the 
Presidents.  What  hallowed  niches  now  enshrine  the 
General's  fence,  utterly  disintegrated  and  appropri 
ated,  during  that  bannered  and  vociferous  summer, 
by  pious  pilgrims! 

Down  the  busy  meridional  avenue  that  opened 
before  Sylvia  as  they  drove  uptown  loomed  the  tall 
shaft  of  the  soldiers'  monument,  and  they  were  soon 
swinging  round  the  encompassing  plaza.  Professor 
Kelton  explained  that  the  monument  filled  a  space 
once  called  Circle  Park,  where  the  Governor's  Man 
sion  had  stood  in  old  times.  In  her  hurried  glimpses 
Sylvia  was  unable  to  account  for  the  lack  of  socia 
bility  among  the  distinguished  gentlemen  posed  in 
bronze  around  the  circular  thoroughfare;  and  she 
thought  it  odd  that  William  Henry  Harrison  wore 
so  much  better  clothes  than  George  Rogers  Clark,  who 
was  immortalized  for  her  especial  pleasure  in  the  very 
act  of  delivering  the  Wabash  from  the  British  yoke. 

(24) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

"I  wonder  whether  Mrs.  Owen  will  like  me?" 
said  Sylvia  a  little  plaintively,  the  least  bit  home 
sick  as  they  turned  into  Delaware  Street. 

"Of  course  she  will  like  you!"  laughed  Professor 
Kelton,  " though  I  will  say  that  she  doesn't  like 
everybody  by  any  manner  of  means.  You  must  n't 
be  afraid  of  her;  she  gets  on  best  with  people  who 
are  not  afraid  to  talk  to  her.  She  is  n't  like  anybody 
you  ever  saw,  or,  I  think,  anybody  you  are  ever 
likely  to  see  again!"  And  the  professor  chuckled 
softly  to  himself. 

Mrs.  Owen's  big  comfortable  brick  house  stood 
in  that  broad  part  of  Delaware  Street  where  the 
maple  arch  rises  highest,  and  it  was  surrounded  by 
the  smoothest  of  lawns,  broken  only  by  a  stone  basin 
in  whose  centre  posed  the  jolliest  of  Cupids  holding 
a  green  glass  umbrella,  over  which  a  jet  of  water 
played  in  the  most  realistic  rainstorm  imaginable. 

Another  negro,  not  quite  as  venerable  as  the 
coachman,  opened  the  door  and  took  their  bags.  He 
explained  that  Mrs.  Owen  (he  called  her  "Mis' 
Sally  ")  had  been  obliged  to  attend  a  meeting  of  some 
board  or  other,  but  would  return  shortly.  The  guests' 
rooms  were  ready  and  he  at  once  led  the  way  up 
stairs,  where  a  white  maid  met  them. 

Professor  Kelton  explained  that  he  must  go  down 
into  the  city  on  some  errands,  but  that  he  would  be 
back  shortly,  and  Sylvia  was  thus  left  to  her  own 
devices. 

It  was  like  a  story  book  to  arrive  at  a  strange 
house  and  be  carried  off  to  a  beautiful  room,  with 
a  window-seat  from  which  one  could  look  down 

(25) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

into  the  most  charming  of  gardens.  She  opened  her 
bag  and  disposed  her  few  belongings  and  was  explor 
ing  the  bathroom  wonderingly  (for  the  bath  at  home 
was  an  affair  of  a  tin  tub  to  which  water  was  car 
ried  by  hand)  when  a  maid  appeared  with  a  glass  of 
lemonade  and  a  plate  of  cakes. 

It  was  while  she  munched  her  cakes  and  sipped  the 
cool  lemonade  in  the  window-seat  with  an  elm's 
branches  so  close  that  she  could  touch  them,  and 
wondered  how  near  to  this  room  her  grandfather 
had  been  lodged,  and  what  the  mistress  of  the  house 
was  like,  that  Mrs.  Owen  appeared,  after  the  light 
est  tap  on  the  high  walnut  door.  Throughout  her 
life  Sylvia  will  remember  that  moment  when  she 
first  measured  Mrs.  Owen's  fine  height  and  was  aware 
of  her  quick,  eager  entrance;  but  above  all  else  the 
serious  gray  eyes  that  were  so  alive  with  kindness 
were  the  chief  item  of  Sylvia's  inventory. 

"I  thought  you  were  older, — or  younger!  I 
did  n't  know  you  would  be  just  like  this!  I  did  n't 
know  just  when  you  were  coming  or  I  should  have 
tried  to  be  at  home  —  but  there  was  a  meeting,  — 
there  are  so  many  things,  child!" 

Mrs.  Owen  did  not  sigh  at  the  thought  of  her  bur 
dens,  but  smiled  quite  cheerfully  as  though  the  fact 
of  the  world's  being  a  busy  place  was  wholly  agree 
able.  She  sat  down  beside  Sylvia  in  the  window- 
seat  and  took  one  of  the  cakes  and  nibbled  it  while 
they  talked.  Sylvia  had  never  been  so  wholly  at 
ease  in  her  life.  It  was  as  though  she  had  been 
launched  into  the  midst  of  an  old  friendship,  and 
she  felt  that  she  had  conferred  the  greatest  possible 

(26) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

favor  in  consenting  to  visit  this  house,  for  was  not 
this  dear  old  lady  saying,  — 

"You  see,  I'm  lonesome  sometimes  and  I  almost 
kidnap  people  to  get  them  to  visit  me.  I'm  a  terribly 
practical  old  woman.  If  you  have  n't  heard  it  I 
must  tell  you  the  truth  —  I  'm  a  farmer!  And  I  don't 
let  anybody  run  my  business.  Other  widows  have 
to  take  what  the  lawyers  give  them;  but  while  I  can 
tell  oats  from  corn  and  horses  from  pigs  I  'm  going 
to  handle  my  own  money.  We  women  are  a  lot  of 
geese,  I  tell  you,  child !  I  'm  treasurer  of  a  lot  of  things 
women  run,  and  I  can  see  a  deficit  through  a  brick 
wall  as  quick  as  any  man  on  earth.  Don't  you  ever 
let  any  man  vote  any  proxy  for  you  —  you  tell 
'em  you  '11  attend  the  stockholders'  meetings  your 
self,  and  when  you  go,  kick!" 

Sylvia  had  not  the  faintest  notion  of  what  proxy 
meant,  but  she  was  sure  it  must  be  something  both 
interesting  and  important  or  Mrs.  Owen  would  not 
feel  so  strongly  about  it. 

"When  I  was  your  age,"  Mrs.  Owen  continued, 
"girls  weren't  allowed  to  learn  anything  but  em 
broidery  and  housekeeping.  But  my  father  had  some 
sense.  He  was  a  Kentucky  farmer  and  raised  horses 
and  mules.  I  never  knew  anything  about  music, 
for  I  would  n't  learn ;  but  I  own  a  stock  farm  near 
Lexington,  and  just  between  ourselves  I  don't  lose 
any  money  on  it.  And  most  that  I  know  about  men 
I  learned  from  mules;  there's  nothing  in  the  world 
so  interesting  as  a  mule." 

When  Professor  Kelton  had  declared  to  Sylvia 
on  the  way  from  the  station  that  Mrs.  Owen  was  un- 

(27) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

like  any  other  woman  in  the  world,  Sylvia  had  not 
thought  very  much  about  it.  To  be  sure  Sylvia's 
knowledge  of  the  world  was  the  meagrest,  but  cer 
tainly  she  could  never  have  imagined  any  woman 
as  remarkable  as  Mrs.  Owen.  The  idea  that  a  mule, 
instead  of  being  a  dull  beast  of  burden,  had  really 
an  educational  value  struck  her  as  decidedly  novel, 
and  she  did  not  know  just  what  to  make  of  it.  Mrs. 
Owen  readjusted  the  pillow  at  her  back,  and  went  on 
spiritedly:  — 

"Your  grandpa  has  often  spoken  of  you,  and  it's 
mighty  nice  to  have  you  here.  You  see  a  good  many 
of  us  Hoosiers  are  Kentucky  people,  and  your  grand 
pa's  father  was.  I  remember  perfectly  well  when  your 
grandpa  went  to  the  Naval  Academy;  and  we  were 
all  mighty  proud  of  him  in  the  war." 

Mrs.  Owen's  white  hair  was  beautifully  soft  and 
wavy,  and  she  wore  it  in  the  prevailing  manner.  Her 
eyes  narrowed  occasionally  with  an  effect  of  sudden 
dreaminess,  and  these  momentary  reveries  seemed 
to  the  adoring  Sylvia  wholly  fascinating.  She  spoke 
incisively  and  her  voice  was  deep  and  resonant.  She 
was  exceedingly  thin  and  wiry,  and  her  movements 
were  quick  and  nervous.  Hearing  the  whirr  of  a 
lawn-mower  in  the  yard  she  drew  a  pair  of  spectacles 
from  a  case  she  produced  from  an  incredibly  deep 
pocket,  put  them  on,  and  criticized  the  black  man 
below  sharply  for  his  manner  of  running  the  ma 
chine.  This  done,  the  spectacles  went  back  to  the 
case  and  the  case  to  the  pocket.  In  our  capital  a 
woman  in  a  kimono  may  still  admonish  her  serv 
ants  from  a  second-story  window  without  loss  of 

(28) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

dignity,  and  gentlemen  holding  high  place  in  digni 
fied  callings  may  sprinkle  their  own  lawns  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening  if  they  find  delight  in  that  cheer 
ing  diversion.  Joy  in  the  simple  life  dies  in  us  slowly. 
The  galloping  Time-Spirit  will  run  us  down  eventu 
ally,  but  on  Sundays  that  are  not  too  hot  or  too  cold 
one  may  even  to-day  count  a  handsome  total  of 
bank  balances  represented  in  our  churches,  so  strong 
is  habit  in  a  people  bred  to  righteousness. 

"You  need  n't  be  afraid  of  me;  my  bark  is  worse 
than  my  bite;  you  have  to  talk  just  that  way  to  these 
black  people.  They've  all  worked  for  me  for  years 
and  they  don't  any  of  'em  pay  the  slightest  atten 
tion  to  what  I  say.  But,"  she  concluded,  "they'd 
be  a  lot  worse  if  I  did  n't  say  it." 

We  reckon  time  in  our  capital  not  from  fires  or 
floods  or  even  anno  urbis  conditcz,  but  from  seemingly 
minor  incidents  that  have  nevertheless  marked  new 
eras  and  changed  the  channels  of  history.  Prece 
dents  sustain  us  in  this.  A  startled  goose  rousing  the 
sleeping  sentinels  on  the  ramparts;  a  dull  peasant 
sending  an  army  in  the  wrong  direction;  the  mis 
chievous  phrase  uttered  by  an  inconspicuous  minister 
of  the  gospel  to  a  few  auditors,  —  such  unconsidered 
trifles  play  havoc  with  Fame's  calculations.  And  so 
in  our  calendar  the  disbanding  of  the  volunteer  fire 
department  in  1859  looms  gloomily  above  the  high 
est  altitudes  of  the  strenuous  sixties;  the  fact  that 
Billy  Sanderson,  after  his  father's  failure  in  1873, 
became  a  brakeman  on  the  J.  M.  &  I.  Railroad  and 
invested  his  first  month's  salary  in  a  silver-mounted 
lantern,  is  more  luminous  in  the  retrospect  than  the 

(29) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

panic  itself;  the  coming  of  a  lady  with  a  lorgnette 
in  1889  (the  scion  of  one  of  our  ancient  houses 
married  her  in  Ohio)  overshadows  even  the  passing 
of  Beecher's  church;  and  the  three-days'  sojourn  of 
Henry  James  in  1905  shattered  all  records  and  es 
tablished  a  new  orientation  for  our  people.  It  was 
Sally  Owen  who  said,  when  certain  citizens  declared 
that  Mr.  James  was  inaudible,  that  many  heard 
him  perfectly  that  night  in  the  Propylaeum  who 
had  always  thought  Balzac  the  name  of  a  tooth- 
powder. 

Mrs.  Owen's  family,  the  Singletons,  had  crossed 
the  Ohio  into  Hoosier  territory  along  in  the  fifties, 
in  time  for  Sally  to  have  been  a  student  —  not  the 
demurest  from  all  accounts  —  at  Indiana  Female 
College.  Where  stood  the  college  the  Board  of  Trade 
has  lately  planted  itself,  frowning  down  upon  Christ 
Church,  whose  admirable  Gothic  spire  chimed  for 
Union  victories  in  the  sixties  (there's  a  story  about 
that,  too!)  and  still  pleads  with  the  ungodly  on  those 
days  of  the  week  appointed  by  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer  for  offices  to  be  said  or  sung.  Mrs.  Jackson 
Owen  was  at  this  time  sixty  years  old,  and  she  had 
been  a  widow  for  thirty  years.  The  old  citizens  who 
remembered  Jackson  Owen  always  spoke  of  him  with 
a  smile.  He  held  an  undisputed  record  of  having 
been  defeated  for  more  offices  than  any  other  Hoosier 
of  his  time.  His  chief  assets  when  he  died  were  a 
number  of  farms,  plastered  with  mortgages,  scat 
tered  over  the  commonwealth  in  inaccessible  locali 
ties.  His  wife,  left  a  widow  with  a  daughter  who  died 
at  fourteen,  addressed  herself  zealously  to  the  task 

(30) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

of  paying  the  indebtedness  with  which  the  lamented 
Jackson  had  encumbered  his  property.  She  had  made 
a  point  of  clinging  to  all  the  farms  that  had  been  so 
profitless  under  his  direction,  and  so  successfully 
had  she  managed  them  that  they  were  all  paying 
handsomely.  A  four-hundred-acre  tract  of  the  tallest 
corn  I  ever  saw  was  once  pointed  out  to  me  in  Greene 
County  and  this  plantation,  it  was  explained,  had 
been  a  worthless  bog  before  Mrs.  Owen  "tiled"  it; 
and  later  I  saw  stalks  of  this  corn  displayed  in  the 
rooms  of  the  Agricultural  Society  to  illustrate  what 
intelligent  farming  can  do. 

At  the  State  Fair  every  fall  it  was  taken  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course  that  "S.  Owen"  (such  was  her  business 
designation)  should  win  more  red  ribbons  than  any 
other  exhibitor  either  of  cereals  or  live  stock.  There 
was  nothing  that  Sally  Owen  did  not  know  about 
feeding  cattle,  and  a  paper  she  once  read  before  the 
Short-Horn  Breeders'  Association  is  a  classic  on  this 
important  subject.  Mrs.  Owen  still  retained  the 
active  control  of  her  affairs,  though  she  had  gradu 
ally  given  over  to  a  superintendent  much  of  the 
work  long  done  by  herself;  but  woe  unto  him  who 
ever  tried  to  deceive  her!  She  maintained  an  office 
on  the  ground  floor  of  her  house  where  she  transacted 
business  and  kept  inventories  of  every  stick  of 
wood,  every  bushel  of  corn,  every  litter  of  pigs  to 
which  she  had  ever  been  entitled.  For  years  she 
had  spent  much  time  at  her  farms,  particularly 
through  the  open  months  of  the  year  when  farm 
tasks  are  most  urgent;  but  as  her  indulgence  in 
masculine  pursuits  had  not  abated  her  womanly 

(so 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

fastidiousness,  she  carried  with  her  in  all  her  journeys 
a  negro  woman  whose  business  it  was  to  cook  for  her 
mistress  and  otherwise  care  for  her  comfort.  She 
had  acquired  the  farm  in  Kentucky  to  continue  her 
ties  with  the  state  of  her  birth,  but  this  sentimental 
consideration  did  not  deter  her  from  making  the 
Lexington  farm  pay;  Sally  Owen  made  everything 
pay!  Her  Southern  ancestry  was  manifest  in  nothing 
more  strikingly  than  in  her  treatment  of  the  blacks 
she  had  always  had  about  her.  She  called  them  nig 
gers  —  as  only  a  Southerner  may,  and  they  called 
her  "Mis'  Sally"  and  were  her  most  devoted  and 
obedient  servants. 

Much  of  this  Sylvia  was  to  learn  later;  but  just 
now,  as  Mrs.  Owen  sat  in  the  cool  window-seat,  it 
was  enough  for  Sylvia  to  be  there,  in  the  company 
of  the  first  woman  —  so  it  seemed  to  her  —  she  had 
ever  known,  except  Irish  Mary  at  home.  The  wives 
of  the  professors  in  Buckeye  Lane  were  not  like 
this;  no  one  was  ever  like  this,  she  was  sure! 

"  We  shall  be  having  luncheon  at  half- past  twelve, 
and  my  grandniece  Marian  will  be  here.  Marian  is 
the  daughter  of  my  niece,  Mrs.  Morton  Bassett, 
who  lives  at  Fraserville.  Marian  comes  to  town  pretty 
often  and  I  've  asked  her  down  to-day  particularly 
to  meet  you." 

"I'm  sure  that  is  very  kind,"  murmured  Sylvia, 
though  she  would  have  been  perfectly  happy  if  just 
she  and  her  grandfather  had  been  left  alone  with 
Mrs.  Owen. 

1 '  There 's  the  bell ;  that  must  be  Marian  now, ' '  said 
Mrs.  Owen  a  moment  later,  and  vanished  in  her 

(32) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

quick  fashion.  Then  the  door  opened  again  instantly 
and  she  returned  to  the  room  smiling. 

"What  is  your  name,  dear?"  Mrs.  Owen  de 
manded.  "How  very  stupid  of  me  not  to  have 
asked  before!  Your  grandpa  in  speaking  of  you  al 
ways  says  my  granddaughter,  and  that  does  n't  tell 
anything,  does  it?" 

"My  name  is  Sylvia  —  Sylvia  Garrison." 

"And  that's  a  very  nice  name,"  said  Mrs.  Owen, 
looking  at  her  fixedly  with  her  fine  gray  eyes. 
"You're  the  first  Sylvia  I  have  ever  known.  I'm 
just  plain  Sally!"  Then  she  seized  Sylvia's  hands 
and  drew  her  close  and  kissed  her. 

As  Sylvia  had  brought  but  one  white  gown,  she 
decided  that  the  blue  serge  skirt  and  linen  shirt-waist 
in  which  she  had  traveled  would  do  for  luncheon. 
She  put  on  a  fresh  collar  and  knotted  a  black  scarf 
under  it  and  went  downstairs. 

She  ran  down  quickly,  to  have  the  meeting  with 
the  strange  niece  over  as  quickly  as  possible.  Mrs. 
Owen  was  not  in  sight,  and  her  grandfather  had  not 
returned  from  town ;  but  as  Sylvia  paused  a  moment 
at  the  door  of  the  spacious  high-ceilinged  drawing- 
room  she  saw  a  golden  head  bent  over  a  music  rack 
by  the  piano.  Sylvia  stood  on  the  threshold  an  in 
stant,  shy  and  uncertain  as  to  how  she  should  make 
herself  known.  The  sun  flooding  the  windows  glinted 
on  the  bright  hair  of  the  girl  at  the  piano;  she  was 
very  fair,  and  her  features  were  clear-cut  and  regu 
lar.  There  was  no  sound  in  the  room  but  the  crisp 
rustle  of  the  leaves  of  music  as  the  girl  tossed  them 
about.  Then  as  she  flung  aside  the  last  sheet  with 

(33) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

an  exclamation  of  disappointment,  Sylvia  made  her 
self  known. 

"I'm  Sylvia  Garrison,"  she  said,  advancing. 

They  gravely  inspected  each  other  for  a  moment; 
then  Marian  put  out  her  hand. 

"I'm  Marian  Bassett.  Aunt  Sally  told  me  you 
were  coming." 

Marian  seated  herself  with  the  greatest  composure 
and  Sylvia  noted  her  white  lawn  gown  and  white 
half-shoes,  and  the  bow  of  white  ribbon  at  the  back 
of  her  head.  Sylvia,  in  her  blue  serge,  black  rib 
bons,  and  high  shoes,  felt  the  superiority  of  this 
radiant  being.  Marian  took  charge  of  the  conversa 
tion. 

"  I  suppose  you  like  to  visit;  I  love  it.  I  've  visited 
a  lot,  and  I  'm  always  coming  to  Aunt  Sally's.  I  'm 
in  Miss  Waring's  School,  here  in  this  city,  so  I  come 
to  spend  Sundays  with  Aunt  Sally  very  often.  Mama 
is  always  coming  to  town  to  see  how  I  'm  getting  on. 
She's  terribly  ambitious  for  me,  but  I  hate  school, 
and  I  simply  cannot  learn  French.  Miss  Waring  is 
terribly  severe;  she  says  it's  merely  a  lack  of  appli 
cation  in  my  case ;  that  I  could  learn  but  won't.  When 
mama  comes  she  takes  me  to  luncheon  at  the  Whit- 
comb  and  sometimes  to  the  matinee.  We  saw  John 
Drew  last  winter:  he's  simply  perfect  —  so  refined 
and  gentlemanly;  and  I  've  seen  Julia  Marlowe  twice; 
she's  my  favorite  actress.  Mama  says  that  if  I  just 
will  read  novels  I  ought  to  read  good  ones,  and  she 
gave  me  a  set  of  Thackeray  for  my  own;  but  you 
can  skip  a  whole  lot  in  him,  I  'm  here  to  state!  One 
of  our  best  critics  has  said  (mama's  always  saying 

(34) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

that)  that  the  best  readers  are  those  who  know  how 
to  skip,  and  I  'm  a  good  skipper.  I  always  want  to 
know  how  it's  going  to  come  out.  If  they  can't  live 
happy  forever  afterward  I  want  them  to  part  beau 
tifully,  with  soft  music  playing;  and  he  must  go  away 
and  leave  her  holding  a  rose  as  a  pledge  that  he  will 
never  forget." 

When  Marian  paused  there  was  a  silence  as  Sylvia 
tried  to  pick  out  of  this  long  speech  something  to 
which  she  could  respond.  Marian  was  astonishingly 
wise;  Sylvia  felt  herself  immeasurably  younger,  and 
she  was  appalled  by  her  own  ignorance  before  this 
child  who  had  touched  so  many  sides  of  life  and  who 
recounted  her  experiences  so  calmly  and  lightly. 

"This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  visited,"  Sylvia  con 
fessed.  "I  live  with  my  grandfather  Kelton,  right 
by  Madison  College,  that's  at  Montgomery,  you 
know.  Grandfather  was  a  professor  in  the  college, 
and  still  lectures  there  sometimes.  I  've  never  been 
to  school  — " 

"How  on  earth  do  you  escape?"  demanded 
Marian. 

"It's  not  an  escape,"  laughed  Sylvia;  "you  see 
grandfather,  being  a  professor,  began  teaching  me 
almost  before  I  began  remembering." 

"Oh !  But  even  that  would  be  better  than  a  board 
ing-school,  where  they  make  you  study.  It  would  be 
easy  to  tell  your  grandfather  that  you  did  n't  want 
to  do  things." 

"I  suppose  it  would,"  Sylvia  acknowledged;  "but 
it's  so  nice  to  have  him  for  a  teacher  that  I  should  n't 
know  just  how  to  do  it." 

(35) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

This  point  of  view  did  not  interest  Marian,  and 
she  recurred  to  her  own  affairs. 

"  I  've  been  to  Europe.  Papa  took  us  all  last  year. 
We  went  to  Paris  and  London.  It  was  fine." 

"  My  grandfather  was  in  the  United  States  Navy, 
before  he  began  teaching  at  Madison,  so  I  know  a 
good  deal  from  him  about  Europe." 

" Blackford  --he's  my  brother  —  is  going  to  An 
napolis,"  said  Marian,  thus  reminded  of  her  brother's 
aspirations.  "  At  least  he  says  he  is,  though  he  used 
to  talk  about  West  Point.  I  hope  he  will  go  into  the 
Army.  I  should  like  to  visit  West  Point;  it  must  be 
perfectly  fascinating." 

"I  suppose  it  is.    I  think  I  should  like  college." 

"Not  for  me!"  exclaimed  Marian.  "  I  want  to  go 
to  a  convent  in  Paris.  I  know  a  girl  right  here  in 
Indianapolis  who  did  that,  and  it's  perfectly  fine 
and  ever  so  romantic.  To  get  into  college  you  have 
to  know  algebra,  don't  you?" 

"Yes;  I  think  they  require  that,"  Sylvia  replied, 
on  guard  against  a  display  of  too  much  knowledge. 

"Do  you  know  algebra?"  demanded  Marian. 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  don't!" 

"Well,  there's  no  doubt  about  me!  I'm  sure  I 
don't.  It's  perfectly  horrid." 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Owen  and  the  return  of  Pro 
fessor  Kelton  terminated  these  confidences.  The 
four  were  soon  at  the  luncheon  table,  where  the  ar 
ray  of  crystal  and  silver  seemed  magnificent  to 
Sylvia's  unaccustomed  eyes.  She  had  supposed  that 
luncheon  meant  some  such  simple  meal  as  the  sup 
pers  she  had  been  used  to  at  home;  but  it  included 

(36) 


SYLVIA  GOES  VISITING 

fried  chicken  and  cold  ham,  and  there  were  several 
vegetables;  and  hot  biscuits  and  hot  corn  bread; 
and  it  became  necessary  for  Sylvia  to  decline  an 
endless  succession  of  preserves  and  jellies.  For  des 
sert  there  were  the  most  fragrant  red  raspberries 
conceivable,  with  golden  sponge  cake.  The  colored 
man  who  served  the  table  seemed  to  enjoy  himself 
immensely.  He  condescended  to  make  suggestions 
as  he  moved  about.  "A  little  mo'  of  the  cold  ham, 
Cap'n?"  or,  "I  'membah  you  like  the  sparrograss, 
Mis'  Marian,"  he  murmured.  ''The  co'n  bread's 
extra  fine,  Mis'"  —  to  Sylvia.  "The  hossis  is  aw- 
dahed  for  three,  Mis'  Sally"  --to  Mrs.  Owen. 

"You  still  have  Kentucky  cooking,  Sally,"  re 
marked  Professor  Kelton,  who  had  praised  the  corn 
bread. 

" I  do,  Andrew,"  replied  the  old  lady;  "everybody 
knows  that  the  best  things  in  Indiana  came  through 
Kentucky.  That  includes  you  and  me!" 

Prompted  by  Mrs.  Owen's  friendly  questioning, 
Sylvia  found  herself  talking.  She  felt  that  she  was 
talking  more  than  Marian;  but  she  was  much  less 
troubled  by  this,  than  by  Marian's  sophisticated 
manner  of  lifting  her  asparagus  stalks  with  her 
fingers,  while  Sylvia  resorted  to  the  fork.  But  Sylvia 
comforted  herself  with  the  reflection  that  this  was 
all  in  keeping  with  Marian  Bassett's  general  superior 
ity.  Marian  conducted  herself  with  the  most  mature 
air,  and  she  made  it  quite  necessary  for  Professor 
Kelton  to  defend  the  Navy  against  her  assertion 
that  the  Army  was  much  more  useful  to  the  country. 
The  unhurried  meal  passed,  and  after  they  had  re- 

(37) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

turned  to  the  drawing-room  Marian  left  to  meet  her 
mother  at  the  dressmaker's  and  return  with  her  to 
Fraserville. 

"I  hope  to  see  you  again,"  said  Marian,  shaking 
hands  with  Sylvia. 

"I  hope  so,  too,"  Sylvia  replied. 


CHAPTER   III 

A   SMALL   DINNER  AT   MRS.    OWEN'S 

PROFESSOR  KELTON  announced  that  he 
had  not  finished  his  errands  in  town,  and 
begged  to  be  excused  from  the  drive  which 
Mrs.  Owen  had  planned. 

"Very  well,  Andrew.  Then  I  shall  take  your 
Sylvia  for  a  longer  drive  than  I  should  expect  you  to 
survive.  We'll  go  out  and  see  how  the  wheat  looks." 

In  this  new  environment  Sylvia  was  aware  that 
despite  his  efforts  to  appear  gay  her  grandfather  was 
not  himself.  She  was  quite  sure  that  he  had  not  ex 
pected  to  spend  the  afternoon  downtown,  and  she 
wondered  what  was  troubling  him.  The  novelty  of 
the  drive,  however,  quickly  won  her  to  the  best  of 
spirits.  Mrs.  Owen  appeared  ready  for  this  adven 
ture  with  her  tall  figure  wrapped  in  a  linen  "duster." 
Her  hat  was  a  practical  affair  of  straw,  unadorned 
save  by  a  black  ribbon.  As  she  drew  on  her  gloves 
in  the  porte-cochere  the  old  coachman  held  the  heads 
of  two  horses  that  were  hitched  to  a  smart  road 
wagon.  When  her  gloves  had  been  adjusted,  Mrs. 
Owen  surveyed  the  horses  critically. 

"Lift  Pete's  forefoot  —  the  off  one,  Joe,"  she 
commanded,  stepping  down  into  the  asphalt  court. 
"Um,  —  that's  just  what  I  thought.  That  new 
blacksmith  knows  his  business.  That  shoe's  on 

(39) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

straight.  That  other  man  never  did  know  anything. 
All  right,  Sylvia." 

Mrs.  Owen  explained  as  the  trim  sorrels  stepped 
off  smartly  toward  the  north  that  they  were  Esta- 
brook  stock  and  that  she  had  raised  them  herself 
on  her  Kentucky  farm,  which  she  declared  Sylvia 
must  visit  some  day.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  be 
driving  in  this  way  under  a  high  blue  sky,  beside  a 
woman  whose  ways  and  interests  were  so  unusual. 
The  spirited  team  held  Mrs.  Owen's  attention,  but 
she  never  allowed  the  conversation  to  flag.  Several 
times  as  they  crossed  car  lines  it  seemed  to  Sylvia 
that  they  missed  being  struck  only  by  perilously 
narrow  margins.  When  they  reached  the  creek 
they  paused  on  the  bridge  to  allow  the  sorrels  to 
rest,  and  Mrs.  Owen  indicated  with  her  whip  the 
line  of  the  new  boulevard  and  recounted  the  history 
of  the  region. 

At  the  State  Fair  grounds  Mrs.  Owen  drove  in, 
explaining  that  she  wanted  to  see  what  they  were 
doing  to  the  track.  Sylvia  noticed  that  the  employees 
they  passed  grinned  at  Mrs.  Owen  as  though  she 
were  a  familiar  acquaintance,  and  the  superintend 
ent  came  up  and  discussed  horses  and  the  track 
changes  with  Mrs.  Owen  in  a  strange  vocabulary.  He 
listened  respectfully  to  what  Mrs.  Owen  said  and 
was  impressed,  Sylvia  thought,  by  her  opinions.  She 
referred  to  other  tracks  at  Lexington  and  Louisville 
as  though  they  were,  of  course,  something  that  every 
body  knew  about.  The  sun  was  hot,  but  Mrs.  Owen 
did  not  seem  to  mind  the  heat  a  particle.  The  super 
intendent  looked  the  sorrels  over  carefully;  they  had 

(40) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

taken  no  end  of  ribbons  at  fairs  and  horse  shows. 
Here  was  a  team,  Mrs.  Owen  announced,  that  she 
was  not  afraid  to  show  in  Madison  Square  Garden 
against  any  competitors  in  its  class;  and  the  super 
intendent  admitted  that  the  Estabrooks  were  a  fine 
stock.  He  nodded  and  kept  repeating  "You're 
right,"  or  "you  're  mighty  right,"  to  everything 
the  old  lady  said.  It  seemed  to  Sylvia  that  nobody 
would  be  likely  to  question  or  gainsay  any  opinions 
Mrs.  Owen  might  advance  on  the  subject  of  horses. 
She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  as  they  were  driving 
back  toward  the  gate  and  saw  the  superintendent 
looking  after  them. 

"He's  watching  the  team,  ain't  he,  Sylvia?  I 
thought  I  'd  touch  up  his  envy  a  little.  That  man/' 
continued  Mrs.  Owen,  "really  knows  a  horse  from 
an  elephant.  He's  been  trying  to  buy  this  team;  but 
he  has  n't  bid  up  high  enough  yet.  It  tickles  me  to 
think  that  some  of  those  rich  fellows  down  in  New 
York  will  pay  me  a  good  price  when  I  send  'em  down 
there  to  the  show.  They  need  working;  you  can't 
do  much  with  horses  in  town;  the  asphalt  plays 
smash  with  their  feet.  There 's  a  good  stretch  of  pike 
out  here  and  I  '11  show  you  what  this  team  can  do." 

This  promised  demonstration  was  the  least  bit 
terrifying  to  Sylvia.  Her  knowledge  of  horses  was 
the  slightest,  and  in  reading  of  horse  races  she  had 
not  imagined  that  there  could  be  such  a  thrill  in 
speeding  along  a  stretch  of  good  road  behind  a  pair 
of  registered  roadsters,  the  flower  of  the  Estabrook 
stock,  driven  by  so  intrepid  and  skillful  a  whip  as 
Mrs.  Sally  Owen. 

(40 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"I  guess  that  mile  would  worry  the  boys  some," 
observed  Mrs.  Owen  with  satisfaction  as  she  brought 
the  team  to  a  walk. 

This  was  wholly  cryptic  to  Sylvia,  but  she  was 
glad  that  Mrs.  Owen  was  not  disappointed.  As  they 
loitered  in  a  long  shady  lane  Mrs.  Owen  made  it 
possible  for  Sylvia  to  talk  of  herself.  Sally  Owen 
was  a  wise  woman,  who  was  considered  a  little  rough 
and  peculiar  by  some  of  her  townspeople,  chiefly 
those  later  comers  who  did  not  understand  the  con 
ditions  of  life  that  had  made  such  a  character  pos 
sible;  but  none  had  ever  questioned  her  kindness  of 
heart.  And  in  spite  of  her  frank,  direct  way  of  speech 
she  was  not  deficient  in  tact.  Sally  Owen  had  an 
active  curiosity,  but  it  was  of  the  healthy  sort  that 
wastes  no  time  on  trifling  matters.  She  was  curious 
about  Sylvia,  for  Sylvia  was  a  little  different  from 
the  young  girls  she  knew.  Quite  naturally  she  was 
comparing  the  slim,  dark-eyed  girl  at  her  side  with 
Marian  Bassett.  Marian  was  altogether  obvious; 
whereas  Mrs.  Owen  felt  the  barriers  of  reserve  in 
Sylvia.  Sylvia  embodied  questions  in  the  Kelton 
family  history  that  she  could  not  answer,  though 
she  had  known  Andrew  Kelton  all  his  life,  and  re 
membered  dimly  his  only  daughter,  who  had  unac 
countably  vanished. 

"Where  do  you  go  to  school,  Sylvia?  "  she  asked. 

"I  don't  go  to  school,  —  not  to  a  real  school,  —  but 
grandfather  teaches  me;  he  has  always  taught  me." 

"And  you  are  now  about  —  how  old?" 

"Sixteen  in  October.  I  Ve  been  talking  to  grand' 
father  about  going  to  college." 

(42) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

"They  do  send  girls  to  college  nowadays,  don't 
they!  We're  beginning  to  have  some  of  these  col 
lege  women  in  our  town  here.  I  know  some  of  'em. 
Let's  see.  What  they  say  against  colleges  for  women 
is  that  the  girls  who  go  there  learn  too  much,  so  that 
men  are  afraid  to  marry  'em.  I  wonder  how  that 
is?  But  that's  in  favor  of  college,  I  think;  don't 
you?" 

Mrs.  Owen  answered  her  own  question  with  a 
laugh;  and  having  opened  the  subject  she  went  on 
to  disclose  her  opinions  further. 

"I  guess  I'm  too  old  to  be  one  of  these  new 
women  we're  hearing  so  much  about.  Even  farm 
ing  's  got  to  be  a  science,  and  it  keeps  me  hustling 
to  learn  what  the  new  words  mean  in  the  agricul 
tural  papers.  I  belong  to  a  generation  of  women  who 
know  how  to  sew  rag  carpets  and  make  quilts  and  stir 
soft  soap  in  an  iron  kettle  and  darn  socks ;  and  I  can 
still  cure  a  ham  better  than  any  Chicago  factory 
does  it,"  she  added,  raking  a  fly  from  the  back  of 
the  "off"  sorrel  with  a  neat  turn  of  the  whip.  "And 
I  reckon  I  make  'em  pay  full  price  for  my  corn. 
Well,  well;  so  you're  headed  for  college." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Sylvia;  "then  after  that  I'm 
going  to  teach." 

"Poor  pay  and  hard  work.  I  know  lots  of  teach 
ers;  they're  always  having  nervous  prostration. 
But  you  look  healthy." 

"Oh,  I'm  strong  enough,"  replied  Sylvia.  "I 
think  I  should  like  teaching." 

"Marian  was  at  Miss  Waring's  school  last  winter 
and  I  could  n't  see  what  she  was  interested  in  much 

(43) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

but  chasing  to  matinees.  Are  you  crazy  about 
theatres?" 

"Why,  I've  never  been  to  one,"  Sylvia  confessed. 

"You're  just  as  well  off.  Actors  ain't  what  they 
used  to  be.  When  you  saw  Edwin  Booth  in  '  Ham 
let'  or  Jefferson  in  '  Rip,'  you  saw  acting.  I  have  n't 
been  in  any  theatre  since  I  saw  Jefferson  in  the  '  Ri 
vals '  the  last  time  he  came  round.  There  used  to 
be  a  stock  company  at  the  Metropolitan  about 
war-time  that  beat  any  of  these  new  actor  folks.  I  'd 
rather  see  a  good  circus  any  time  than  one  of  these 
singing  pieces.  Sassafras  tea  and  a  circus  every 
spring;  I  always  take  both." 

Sylvia  found  these  views  on  the  drama  wholly 
edifying.  Circuses  and  sassafras  tea  were  within 
the  range  of  her  experience,  and  finding  that  she 
had  struck  a  point  of  contact,  Mrs.  Owen  expressed 
her  pity  for  any  child  that  did  not  enjoy  a  round  of 
sassafras  tea  every  spring.  Sassafras  in  the  spring, 
and  a  few  doses  of  quinine  in  the  fall,  to  eliminate 
the  summer's  possible  accumulation  of  malaria,  were 
all  the  medicine  that  any  good  Hoosier  needed,  Mrs. 
Owen  averred. 

"I'm  for  all  this  new  science,  you  understand 
that,"  Mrs.  Owen  continued.  "A  good  deal  of  it 
does  seem  to  me  mighty  funny,  but  when  they  tell 
me  to  boil  drinking-water  to  kill  the  bugs  in  it,  and 
show  me  pictures  of  the  bugs  they  take  with  the  mi 
croscope,  I  don't  snort  just  because  my  grandfather 
did  n't  know  about  those  things  and  lived  to  be  eighty- 
two  and  then  died  from  being  kicked  by  a  colt.  I  go 
into  the  kitchen  and  I  say  to  Eliza,  '  Bile  the  water, 

(44) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

Liza;  bile  it  twice.'  That's  the  kind  of  a  new  woman 
I  am.  But  let's  see;  we  were  speaking  of  Marian." 

"I  liked  her  very  much;  she's  very  nice  and  ever 
so  interesting,"  said  Sylvia. 

"Bless  you,  she's  nice  enough  and  pretty  enough; 
but  about  this  college  business.  I  always  say  that 
if  it  ain't  in  a  colt  the  trainer  can't  put  it  there.  My 
niece  --that's  Mrs.  Bassett,  Marian's  mother  - 
wants  Marian  to  be  an  intellectual  woman, --the 
kind  that  reads  papers  on  the  poets  before  literary 
clubs.  Mrs.  Bassett  runs  a  woman's  club  in  Fraser- 
ville  and  she's  one  of  the  lights  in  the  Federation. 
They  got  me  up  to  Fraserville  to  speak  to  their  club 
a  few  years  ago.  It's  one  of  these  solemn  clubs 
women  have;  awful  literary  and  never  get  nearer 
home  than  Doctor  Johnson,  who  was  nothing  but  a 
fat  loafer  anyhow.  I  told  'em  they'd  better  let  me 
off;  but  they  would  have  it  and  so  I  went  up  and 
talked  on  ensilage.  It  was  fall  and  I  thought  ensi 
lage  was  seasonable  and  they  ought  to  know  about 
it  if  they  did  n't.  And  they  did  n't,  all  right." 

Sylvia  had  been  staring  straight  ahead  across  the 
backs  of  the  team;  she  was  conscious  suddenly  that 
Mrs.  Owen  was  looking  at  her  fixedly,  with  mirth 
kindling  in  her  shrewd  old  eyes.  Sylvia  had  no  idea 
what  ensilage  was,  but  she  knew  it  must  be  some 
thing  amusing  or  Mrs.  Owen  would  not  have  laughed 
so  heartily. 

"It  was  a  good  joke,  wasn't  it  —  talking  to  a 
literary  club  about  silos.  I  told  'em  I  'd  come  back 
and  read  my  little  piece  on  'Winter  Feeding/  but 
they  have  n't  called  me  yet." 

(45) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

They  had  driven  across  to  Meridian  Street,  and 
Mrs.  Owen  sent  the  horses  into  town  at  a  comfort 
able  trot.  They  traversed  the  new  residential  area 
characterized  by  larger  grounds  and  a  higher  aver 
age  of  architecture. 

"That's  Edward  Thatcher's  new  house  —  the 
biggest  one.  They  say  it's  easier  to  pay  for  a  castle 
like  that  out  here  than  it  is  to  keep  a  cook  so  far 
away  from  Washington  Street.  I  let  go  of  ten  acres 
right  here  in  the  eighties;  we  used  to  think  the  town 
would  stop  at  the  creek,"  Mrs.  Owen  explained,  and 
then  announced  the  dictum:  "Keep  land;  mortgage 
if  you  got  to,  but  never  sell;  that's  my  motto." 

It  was  nearly  six  when  they  reached  home,  and 
dinner  was  appointed  for  seven.  Mrs.  Owen  drove 
directly  into  the  barn  and  gave  minute  instructions 
as  to  the  rubbing-down  and  feeding  of  the  horses. 
In  addressing  the  negroes  she  imitated  their  own 
manner  of  speech.  Sylvia  had  noticed  that  Mrs. 
Owen  did  not  always  pronounce  words  in  the  same 
way,  but  such  variations  are  marked  among  our 
Southwestern  people,  particularly  where,  as  in 
Mrs.  Owen's  case,  they  have  lived  on  both  sides  of 
the  Ohio  River.  Sometimes  she  said  "hoss,"  un 
mistakably;  and  here,  and  again  when  she  said 
"bile"  for  "boil,"  it  was  obviously  with  humorous 
intention.  Except  in  long  speeches  she  did  not 
drawl;  at  times  she  spoke  rapidly,  snapping  off  sen 
tences  abruptly.  Her  fashion  of  referring  to  herself 
in  the  third  person  struck  Sylvia  as  most  amusing. 

"Look  here,  you  Joe,  it's  a  nice  way  to  treat  yo* 
Mis'  Sally,  turning  out  that  wagon  with  the  dash 

(46) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

all  scratched.  Don'  you  think  I  'm  blind  and  can't 
tell  when  you  boys  dig  a  broom  into  a  varnished 
buggy!  Next  time  I  catch  yo'  doing  that  I'll  send 
you  down  to  Greene  County  to  plow  co'n  and  yo'll 
not  go  to  any  more  fancy  hoss  shows  with  me." 

As  she  followed  Mrs.  Owen  into  the  house  Sylvia 
thought  she  heard  suppressed  guffawing  in  the 
stable.  Mrs.  Owen  must  have  heard  it  too, 

"A  worthless  lot,"  she  muttered;  "I'm  going  to 
clean  'em  all  out  some  day  and  try  the  Irish";  but 
Mrs.  Sally  Owen  had  often  made  this  threat  without 
having  the  slightest  intention  of  carrying  it  into  effect. 

Professor  Kelton  had  just  reached  the  house,  and 
he  seemed  so  hot  and  tired  that  Sylvia  was  struck 
with  pity  for  him.  He  insisted,  however,  that  he 
was  perfectly  well,  but  admitted  that  his  errands  had 
proved  to  be  more  vexatious  than  he  had  expected. 

"What  kind  of  a  time  have  you  been  having?" 
he  asked  as  they  went  upstairs  together. 

"Oh,  the  finest  in  the  world !  I  'm  sure  I  've  learned 
a  lot  to-day  -  -  a  great  many  things  I  never  dreamed 
about  before." 

"Horses?" 

"  I  never  knew  before  that  there  was  anything  to 
know  about  horses;  but  Mrs.  Owen  knows  all  about 
them.  And  that  team  we  drove  behind  is  wonder 
ful;  they  move  together  perfectly  and  go  like  light 
ning  when  you  want  them  to." 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  you've  enjoyed  yourself.  You'd 
better  put  on  your  white  dress,  —  you  brought  one, 
did  n't  you?  There  will  be  company  at  dinner." 

"Don't  you  scare  that  child  about  company, 

(47) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Andrew,"  said  Mrs.  Owen,  coming  up  behind  them 
with  the  linen  duster  flung  over  her  arm.  "If  you 
haven't  any  white  dress,  Sylvia,  that  blue  one's 
perfectly  good  and  proper." 

She  followed  Sylvia  to  her  room,  continuing  to 
reassure  her.  She  even  shook  out  the  gown,  exclaim 
ing,  "Well,  well"  (Sylvia  didn't  know  why),  and 
went  out  abruptly,  instructing  Sylvia  to  ring  for  the 
maid  if  she  needed  help. 

There  were  three  other  guests  for  dinner,  and  they 
were  unlike  any  other  people  that  Sylvia  had  known. 
She  was  introduced  first  to  Admiral  Martin,  a  re 
tired  officer  of  the  Navy,  who,  having  remained  in  the 
service  of  his  country  to  the  retiring  age,  had  just 
come  home  to  live  in  the  capital  of  his  native  state. 
He  was  short  and  thick  and  talked  in  a  deep,  growl 
ing  voice  exactly  as  admirals  should.  The  suns  and 
winds  of  many  seas  had  burned  and  scored  his  face, 
and  a  stubby  mustache  gave  him  a  belligerent  aspect. 
He  mopped  his  brow  with  a  tremendous  handkerchief 
and  when  Mrs.  Owen  introduced  Sylvia  as  Professor 
Kelton's  granddaughter  he  glared  fiercely. 

"Well,  I  declare,  Andy,  your  granddaughter;  well, 
I  declare."  He  held  Sylvia's  hand  a  moment  and 
peered  into  her  face.  "  I  remember  your  mother  very 
well.  Andy,  I  recall  distinctly  that  you  and  your  wife 
were  at  Old  Point  in  about  the  winter  of  '69  and  your 
daughter  was  with  you.  So  this  is  your  granddaugh 
ter?  Well,  I  declare;  I  wish  she  was  mine." 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Sylvia,"  said  Mrs.  Martin, 
a  shy,  white-haired  little  woman.  "  I  remember  that 
winter  at  Old  Point.  I  was  waiting  for  my  husband 

(48) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

there.  You  look  like  your  mother.  It's  really  a  very 
striking  resemblance.  We  were  all  so  fond  of  Edna." 

This  was  the  first  time  that  any  one  except  her 
grandfather  had  ever  spoken  to  Sylvia  of  her  mother, 
and  the  words  of  these  strangers  thrilled  her  strangely 
and  caused  the  tears  to  shine  suddenly  in  her  eyes. 
It  was  all  over  in  a  moment,  for  Mrs.  Martin,  seeing 
Sylvia's  trembling  lips,  changed  the  subject  quickly. 

The  last  guest  was  just  entering,  —  a  tall  trapper- 
like  man  who  crossed  the  room  to  Mrs.  Owen  with 
a  long,  curious  stride.  He  had  shaken  hands  with 
Professor  Kelton,  and  Mrs.  Owen  introduced  him 
to  the  Martins,  who  by  reason  of  their  long  absences 
had  never  met  him  before. 

"Mr.  Ware,  this  is  Sylvia  Garrison,"  said  Mrs. 
Owen. 

Sylvia  was  given  then  as  later  to  quick  appraise 
ments,  and  she  liked  the  Reverend  John  Ware  on  the 
instant.  He  did  not  look  or  act  or  talk  in  the  least 
like  a  minister.  He  was  very  dark,  and  his  mus 
tache  was  only  faintly  sprinkled  with  gray.  His  hair 
still  showed  black  at  a  distance,  though  he  was  sixty- 
five.  He  had  been,  sometime  earlier,  the  pastor  of 
the  First  Congregational  Church,  but  after  a  so 
journ  in  other  fields  had  retired  to  live  among  his  old 
parishioners  in  the  city  which  had  loved  him  best.  It 
had  been  said  of  him  in  the  days  of  his  pastorate  that 
he  drew  the  largest  congregations  and  the  smallest 
collections  of  any  preacher  the  community  had  ever 
known.  But  Ware  was  curiously  unmindful  of  criti 
cism.  He  had  fished  and  hunted,  he  had  preached 
charity  and  kindness,  and  when  there  was  an  un- 

(49) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

known  tramp  to  bury  or  some  unfortunate  girl  had 
yielded  to  despair,  he  had  officiated  at  the  funeral, 
and,  if  need  be,  ridden  to  the  cemetery  on  the  hearse. 

"I'm  Mrs.  Owen's  neighbor,  you  know,"  he  ex 
plained  to  Sylvia.  "My  family  have  gone  for  the 
summer;  I'm  hanging  on  here  till  my  Indian  sends 
me  a  postal  that  the  fishing  is  right  on  the  Nipigon. 
Nothing  like  getting  off  the  train  somewhere  and  be 
ing  met  by  an  Indian  with  a  paddle  on  his  shoulder. 
You  can  learn  a  lot  from  an  Indian." 

There  were  candles  and  flowers  on  the  round  table, 
and  the  dishes  and  silver  were  Mrs.  Owen's  "com 
pany  best,"  which  was  very  good  indeed.  The  ad 
miral  and  Professor  Kelton  sat  at  Mrs.  Owen's  right 
and  left,  and  Sylvia  found  herself  between  the  min 
ister  and  the  admiral.  The  talk  was  at  once  brisk 
and  general.  The  admiral's  voice  boomed  out  tre 
mendously  and  when  he  laughed  the  glasses  jingled. 
Every  one  was  in  the  best  of  spirits  and  Sylvia  was 
relieved  to  find  that  her  grandfather  was  enjoying 
himself  immensely.  The  admiral's  jokes  harked  back 
to  old  times,  when  he  and  Kelton  were  at  the  Naval 
Academy,  or  to  their  adventures  in  the  war.  It  was 
odd  to  hear  Mrs.  Owen  and  the  admiral  calling  her 
grandfather  "Andrew"  and  "Andy";  no  one  else 
had  ever  done  that;  and  both  men  addressed  Mrs. 
Owen  as  "Sally."  At  a  moment  when  Sylvia  had 
begun  to  feel  the  least  bit  awkward  at  being  the 
only  silent  member  of  the  company,  the  minister 
spoke  to  her.  He  had  seemed  at  first  glance  a  stoical 
person;  but  his  deep-set,  brown  eyes  were  bright 
with  good  humor. 

(50) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

"  These  old  sea  dogs  made  a  lot  of  history.  I  sup 
pose  you  know  a  good  deal  about  the  sea  from  your 
grandfather." 

"  Yes;  but  I've  never  seen  the  sea." 

"I've  crossed  it  once  or  twice  and  tramped  Eng 
land  and  Scotland.  I  wanted  to  see  Burns's  country 
and  the  house  at  Chelsea  where  Carlyle  smoked  his 
pipe.  But  I  like  our  home  folks  best." 

"Mr.  Ware,"  growled  the  admiral,  "a  man  told 
me  the  other  day  that  you'd  served  in  the  Army. 
I  wish  I'd  had  a  chaplain  like  you  in  the  Navy;  I 
might  have  been  a  different  man." 

Mrs.  Owen  glanced  at  Ware  with  a  twinkle  in  her 
eyes. 

"Afraid  I  'm  going  to  be  discovered,"  he  remarked 
to  Sylvia  as  he  buttered  a  bit  of  bread. 

"Well,  what  part  of  the  Army  did  you  serve  in?" 
demanded  the  admiral. 

"Captain,  Fifth  New  York  Cavalry,"  replied  the 
minister  quietly,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"Captain!  You  were  a  fighting  man?"  the  ad 
miral  boomed. 

"Sort  of  one.  We  had  a  good  deal  of  fun  one  way 
or  another.  Four  years  of  it.  Did  n't  begin  fight 
ing  the  Devil  till  afterward.  How  are  things  at  the 
college,  Doctor  Kelton? 

Ware  thus  characteristically  turned  the  conversa 
tion  from  himself.  It  was  evident  that  he  did  not 
care  to  discuss  his  military  experiences;  in  a  moment 
they  were  talking  politics,  in  which  he  seemed  greatly 
interested. 

"We've  kept  bosses  out  of  this  state  pretty  well," 

(so 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Professor  Kelton  was  saying,  "but  I  can  see  one  or 
two  gentlemen  on  both  sides  of  the  fence  trying  to 
play  that  game.  I  don't  believe  the  people  of  In 
diana  will  submit  to  it.  The  bosses  need  big  cities 
to  prey  on  and  we  are  n't  big  enough  for  them  to 
work  in  and  hide  in.  We  all  live  in  the  open  and 
we  're  mostly  seasoned  American  stock  who  won't 
be  driven  like  a  lot  of  foreign  cattle.  This  city  is  n't 
a  country  town  any  longer,  but  it's  still  American. 
I  don't  know  of  any  boss  here." 

"Well,  Sally,  how  about  Mort  Bassett?"  asked 
the  admiral.  "I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  speaking 
of  him." 

"Not  in  the  slightest,"  Mrs.  Owen  replied.  "The 
fact  that  Morton  Bassett  married  my  niece  does  n't 
make  it  necessary  for  me  to  approve  of  all  he  does  - 
and  I  don't.  When  I  get  a  chance  I  give  him  the  best 
licks  I  can.  He's  a  Democrat,  but  I'm  not;  neither 
am  I  a  Republican.  They're  all  just  as  crooked  as 
a  dog's  hind  leg.  I  gave  up  when  they  beat  Tilden 
out  of  the  presidency.  Why,  if  I  'd  been  Samuel 
Tilden  I  'd  have  moved  into  the  White  House  and 
dared  'em  to  throw  me  out.  The  Democratic  Party 
never  did  have  any  gumption ! "  she  concluded  vigor 
ously. 

"A  sound  idea,  Sally,"  grumbled  the  admiral, 
"but  it's  not  new." 

"Bassett  isn't  a  bad  fellow,"  remarked  Ware. 
"You  can  hardly  call  him  a  boss  in  the  usual  sense 
of  the  term." 

"Personally,  he's  certainly  very  agreeable,"  said 
Mrs.  Martin.  "You  remember,  Mrs.  Owen,  I  visited 

(52) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.  OWEN'S 

your  niece  the  last  time  I  was  home  and  I  never  saw 
a  man  more  devoted  to  his  family  than  Mr.  Bassett." 

11  There's  no  complaint  about  that,"  Mrs.  Owen 
assented.  "And  Morton 's  a  very  intelligent  man,  too ; 
you  might  even  call  him  a  student.  I  Ve  been  sorry 
that  he  did  n't  keep  to  the  law;  but  he's  a  money 
maker,  and  he's  in  politics  as  a  part  of  his  business." 

"I've  wondered,"  said  Professor  Kelton,  "just 
what  he's  aiming  at.  Most  of  these  men  are  ambi 
tious  to  go  high.  He's  a  state  senator,  but  there's 
not  much  in  that.  He  must  see  bigger  game  in  the 
future.  I  don't  know  him  myself;  but  from  what 
you  hear  of  him  he  must  be  a  man  of  force.  Weak 
men  don't  dominate  political  parties." 

"This  political  game  looks  mighty  queer  to  me," 
the  admiral  remarked.  "  I  Ve  never  voted  in  my  life, 
but  I  guess  I'll  try  it  now  they've  put  me  on  the 
shelf.  Do  you  vote,  Mr.  Ware?" 

"Oh,  yes!  I'm  one  of  these  sentimentalists  who 
tries  to  vote  for  the  best  man.  Naturally  no  man 
I  ever  vote  for  is  elected." 

"If  I  voted  I  should  want  to  see  the  man  first," 
Mrs.  Owen  averred.  "I  should  ask  him  how  much 
he  expected  to  make  out  of  the  job." 

"You'd  be  a  tartar  in  politics,  Sally,"  said  the 
admiral.  "The  Governor  told  me  the  other  day  that 
when  he  hears  that  you  're  coming  to  the  State  House 
to  talk  about  the  Woman's  Reformatory,  —  or  what 
ever  it  is  you  're  trustee  of,  —  he  crawls  under  the 
table.  He  says  they  were  going  to  cut  down  the 
Reformatory's  appropriation  last  winter,  but  that 
you  went  to  the  legislature  and  gave  an  example 

(53) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

of  lobbying  that  made  the  tough  old  railroad  cam 
paigners  green  with  envy." 

"I  reckon  I  did!  I  told  the  members  of  that 
committee  that  if  they  cut  that  appropriation  I  'd 
go  into  their  counties  and  spend  every  cent  I  Ve 
got  fighting  'em  if  they  ever  ran  for  office  again. 
Joshua,  fill  the  glasses." 

Sylvia  was  anxious  to  know  the  rest  of  the  story. 

"I  hope  they  gave  you  the  money,  Mrs.  Owen," 
she  said. 

"  Did  they  give  it  to  me?  Why,  child,  they  raised 
it  twenty  thousand  dollars!  I  had  to  hold  'em  down. 
Then  Morton  Bassett  pulled  it. through  the  senate 
for  me.  I  told  him  if  he  did  n't  I  'd  cut  his  acquaint 


ance." 


"There's  Ed  Thatcher,  too,  if  we're  restricted  to 
the  Democratic  camp,"  the  minister  was  saying. 
"Thatcher  has  a  fortune  to  use  if  he  ever  wants  to 
try  for  something  big  in  politics,  which  does  n't 
seem  likely." 

"He  has  a  family  that  can  spend  his  money," 
said  Mrs.  Martin.  "What  wrould  he  want  with  an 
office  anyway?  The  governorship  would  bore  him 
to  death." 

"It  might  tickle  him  to  go  to  the  senate,  particu 
larly  if  he  had  a  score  to  clean  up  in  connection 
with  it,"  remarked  Ware. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  the 
admiral. 

"Well,"  Ware  replied,  "he  and  Bassett  are  as 
thick  as  thieves  just  now  in  business  operations.  If 
some  day  it  came  about  that  they  did  n't  get  on  so 

(54) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

well,  —  if  Bassett  tried  to  drop  him  as  they  say  he 
has  sometimes  dropped  men  when  he  did  n't  have 
any  more  use  for  them,  —  then  Thatcher's  sporting 
blood  might  assert  itself.  I  should  be  sorry  for  Bas 
sett  if  that  time  came." 

"  Edward  Thatcher  knows  a  horse,"  interposed 
Mrs.  Owen.  "I  like  Edward  Thatcher." 

" I've  fished  with  Bassett,"  said  the  minister.  "A 
good  fisherman  ought  to  make  a  good  politician; 
there's  a  lot,  I  guess,  in  knowing  just  how  to  bait 
the  hook,  or  where  to  drop  the  fly,  and  how  to  play 
your  fish.  And  Bassett  is  a  man  of  surprising  tastes. 
He's  a  book  collector,  —  rare  editions  and  fine  bind 
ings  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Is  it  possible!  The  newspapers  that  abuse  him 
never  mention  those  things,  of  course,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin. 

A  brief  restraint  fell  upon  the  company,  as  they 
realized  suddenly  that  they  were  discussing  the  hus 
band  of  their  hostess's  niece,  whom  the  opposition 
press  declared  to  be  the  most  vicious  character  that 
had  ever  appeared  in  the  public  life  of  the  state. 
The  minister  had  spoken  well  of  him;  the  others  did 
not  know  him,  or  spoke  cautiously;  and  Mrs.  Owen 
herself  seemed,  during  Ware's  last  speech,  to  be  a 
trifle  restless.  She  addressed  some  irrelevant  re 
mark  to  the  admiral  as  they  rose  and  adjourned  to 
the  long  side  veranda  where  the  men  lighted  cigars. 

"I  think  I  like  this  corner  best,"  remarked  Ware 
when  the  others  had  disposed  themselves.  "Miss 
Sylvia,  won't  you  sit  by  me?  "  She  watched  his  face  as 
the  match  flamed  to  his  cigar.  It  was  deep-lined  and 

(55) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

rugged,  with  high  cheek  bones,  that  showed  plainly 
when  he  shut  his  jaws.  It  occurred  to  Sylvia  that 
but  for  his  mustache  his  face  would  have  been  almost 
typically  Indian.  She  had  seen  somewhere  a  photo 
graph  of  a  Sioux  chief  whose  austere  countenance 
was  very  like  the  minister's.  Ware  did  not  fit  into 
any  of  her  preconceived  ideas  of  the  clerical  office. 
Dr.  Wandless,  the  retired  president  of  Madison 
College,  was  a  minister,  and  any  one  would  have 
known  it,  for  the  fact  was  proclaimed  by  his  dress 
and  manner;  he  might,  in  the  most  casual  meeting 
on  the  campus,  have  raised  his  hands  in  benediction 
without  doing  anything  at  all  extraordinary.  Ware 
belonged  to  a  strikingly  different  order,  and  Sylvia 
did  not  understand  him.  He  had  been  a  soldier;  and 
Sylvia  could  not  imagine  Dr.  Wandless  in  a  cavalry 
charge.  Ware  flung  the  match-stick  away  and  settled 
himself  comfortably  into  his  chair.  The  others  were 
talking  amongst  themselves  of  old  times,  and  Sylvia 
experienced  a  sense  of  ease  and  security  in  the  min 
ister's  company. 

"  Those  people  across  there  are  talking  of  the 
Hoosiers  that  used  to  be,  and  about  the  good  folks 
who  came  into  the  wilderness  and  made  Indiana  a 
commonwealth.  I  'm  a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger  com 
paratively  speaking.  I'm  not  a  Hoosier;  are  you?" 

"No,  Mr.  Ware;  I  was  born  in  New  York  City." 

"Ho!  I  might  have  known  there  was  some  sort 
of  tie  between  us.  I  was  born  in  New  York  myself 

-  'way  up  in  the  Adirondack  country.  You  've 
heard  of  Old  John  Brown?  My  father's  farm  was 
only  an  hour's  march  from  Brown's  place.  I  used  to 

(56) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

see  the  old  man,  and  it  was  n't  my  fault  I  was  n't 
mixed  up  in  some  of  his  scrapes.  Father  caught  me 
and  took  me  home  —  did  n't  see  any  reason  why 
I  should  go  off  and  get  killed  with  a  crazy  man. 
Did  n't  know  Brown  was  going  to  be  immortal." 

"There  must  have  been  a  good  many  people  that 
did  n't  know  it,"  Sylvia  responded. 

She  hoped  that  Ware  would  talk  of  himself  and 
of  the  war;  but  in  a  moment  his  thoughts  took  a 
new  direction. 

" Stars  are  fine  to-night.  It's  a  comfort  to  know 
they're  up  there  all  the  time.  Know  Matthew  Ar 
nold's  poems?  He  says  'With  joy  the  stars  perform 
their  shining.'  I  like  that.  When  I'm  off  camping 
the  best  fun  of  it  is  lying  by  running  water  at  night 
and  looking  at  the  stars.  Odd,  though,  I  never 
knew  the  names  of  many  of  them;  would  n't  know 
any  if  it  were  n't  for  the  dippers,  —  not  sure  of 
them  as  it  is.  There  's  the  North  Star  over  there. 
Suppose  your  grandfather  knows  'em  all." 

"I  think  he  does,"  replied  Sylvia.  "He  still  lec 
tures  about  them  sometimes." 

"Wonder  what  that  is,  just  across  the  farthest  tip 
of  that  maple?  It's  familiar,  but  I  can't  name  it." 

'That,"  said  Sylvia,  "is  Cassiopeia." 

"So?    How  many  constellations  do  you  know?" 

Sylvia  was  silent  a  moment.  She  was  not  sure 
that  it  was  polite  to  disclose  her  knowledge  of  the 
subject  to  a  man  who  had  just  confessed  his  igno 
rance.  She  decided  that  anything  beyond  the  most 
modest  admission  would  be  unbecoming. 

"  I  know  several,  or  I  think  I  do.    This  is  June. 

(57) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

That 's  the  North  Star  over  the  point  of  that  tree, 
as  you  said,  and  above  it  is  Ursa  Minor,  and  winding 
in  and  out  between  it  and  the  Big  Dipper  is  Draco. 
Then  to  the  east,  higher  up,  are  Cygnus,  Lyra,  and 
Aquila.  And  in  the  west- 

She  paused,  feeling  that  she  had  satisfied  the 
amenities  of  conversation  with  this  gentleman  who 
had  so  frankly  stated  his  lack  of  knowledge. 

Ware  struck  his  knee  with  his  hand  and  chuckled. 

"I  should  say  you  do  know  a  few!  You've  men 
tioned  some  I  've  always  wanted  to  get  acquainted 
with.  Now  go  back  to  Cygnus,  the  Swan.  I  like  the 
name  of  that  one;  I  must  be  sure  to  remember  it." 

Politeness  certainly  demanded  that  Sylvia  should 
answer;  and  now  that  the  minister  plied  her  with 
questions,  her  own  interest  was  aroused,  and  she 
led  him  back  and  forth  across  the  starry  lanes,  de 
scribing  in  the  most  artless  fashion  her  own  method 
of  remembering  the  names  and  positions  of  the  con 
stellations.  As  their  range  of  vision  on  the  veranda 
was  circumscribed,  Ware  suggested  that  they  step 
down  upon  the  lawn  to  get  a  wider  sweep,  a  move 
which  attracted  the  attention  of  the  others. 

"Sylvia,  be  careful  of  the  wet.  Josephus  just 
moved  the  sprinkler  and  that  ground  is  soaked." 

11  Don't  call  attention  to  our  feet;  our  heads  are 
in  the  stars,"  answered  Ware.  "I  must  tell  the  In 
dian  boys  on  the  Nipigon  about  this,"  he  said  to 
Sylvia  as  they  returned  to  the  veranda.  "I  did  n't 
know  anybody  knew  as  much  as  you  do.  You  make 
me  ashamed  of  myself." 

"You  need  n't  be,"  laughed  Sylvia.  "Very  likely 

(58) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.   OWEN'S 

most  that  I  Ve  told  you  is  wrong.    I  'm  glad  grand 
father  did  n't  hear  me." 

The  admiral  and  Professor  Kelton  were  launched 
upon  a  fresh  exchange  of  reminiscences  and  the  re 
turn  of  Ware  and  Sylvia  did  not  disturb  them.  It 
seemed,  however,  that  Ware  was  a  famous  story 
teller,  and  when  he  had  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  he 
recounted  a  number  of  adventures,  speaking  in  his 
habitual,  dry,  matter-of-fact  tone,  and  with  curious 
unexpected  turns  of  phrase.  Conversation  in  Indiana 
seems  to  drift  into  story-telling  inevitably.  John 
Ware  once  read  a  paper  before  the  Indianapolis 
Literary  Club  to  prove  that  this  Hoosier  trait  was 
derived  from  the  South.  He  drew  a  species  of  ellips 
oid  of  which  the  Ohio  River  was  the  axis,  sketching 
his  line  to  include  the  Missouri  of  Mark  Twain,  the 
Illinois  of  Lincoln,  the  Indiana  of  Eggleston  and 
Riley,  and  the  Kentucky  that  so  generously  endowed 
these  younger  commonwealths.  North  of  the  Ohio 
the  anecdotal  genius  diminished,  he  declared,  as  one 
moved  toward  the  Great  Lakes  into  a  region  where 
there  had  been  an  infusion  of  population  from  New 
England  and  the  Middle  States.  He  suggested  that 
the  early  pioneers,  having  few  books  and  no  news 
papers,  had  cultivated  the  art  of  story-telling  for 
their  own  entertainment  and  that  the  soldiers  re 
turning  from  the  Civil  War  had  developed  it  further. 
Having  made  this  note  of  his  thesis  I  hasten  to  run 
away  from  it.  Let  others,  prone  to  interminable  de 
bate,  tear  it  to  pieces  if  they  must.  This  kind  of 
social  intercourse,  with  its  intimate  talk,  the  refer 
ences  to  famous  public  characters,  as  though  they 

(59) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

were  only  human  beings  after  all,  the  anecdotal  in 
terchange,  was  wholly  novel  to  Sylvia.  She  thought 
Ware's  stories  much  droller  than  the  admiral's,  and 
quite  as  good  as  her  grandfather's,  which  was  a  great 
concession. 

The  minister  was  beginning  a  new  story.  He 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  and  threw  out  his 
arms  with  one  of  his  odd,  jerky  gestures. 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  fun  in  living  in  the  woods. 
Up  in  the  Adirondacks  there  was  a  lot  for  the  boys 
to  do  when  I  was  a  youngster.  I  liked  winter  better 
than  summer;  school  was  in  winter,  but  when  you 
had  the  fun  of  fighting  big  drifts  to  get  to  it  you 
did  n't  mind  getting  licked  after  you  got  there.  The 
silence  of  night  in  the  woods,  when  the  snow  is  deep, 
the  wind  still,  and  the  moon  at  full,  is  the  solemnest 
thing  in  the  world.  Not  really  of  this  world,  I  guess. 
Sometimes  you  can  hear  a  bough  break  under  the 
weight  of  snow,  with  a  report  like  a  cannon.  The  only 
thing  finer  than  winter  is  spring.  I  don't  mean  lilac 
time;  but  before  that,  the  very  earliest  hint  of  the 
break-up.  Used  to  seem  that  there  was  something 
wild  in  me  that  wanted  to  be  on  the  march  before 
there  was  a  bud  in  sight.  I  'm  a  Northern  animal 
some  way;  born  in  December;  always  feel  better  in 
winter.  I  used  to  watch  for  the  northward  flight 
of  the  game  fowl  —  wanted  to  go  with  the  birds. 
Too  bad  they're  killing  them  all  off.  Wild  geese  are 
getting  mighty  scarce;  geese  always  interested  me. 
I  once  shot  a  gander  in  a  Kankakee  marsh  that 
had  an  Eskimo  arrow  in  its  breast.  A  friend  of  mine, 
distinguished  ethnologist,  verified  that;  said  he  knew 

(60) 


A  SMALL  DINNER  AT  MRS.  OWEN'S 

the  tribe  that  made  arrows  of  that  pattern.  But  I 
was  going  to  say  that  one  night,  —  must  have  been 
when  I  was  fourteen,  —  I  had  some  fun  with  a 
bear .  .  ." 

Sylvia  did  not  hear  the  rest  of  the  story.  She  had 
been  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the  porch,  with  her 
lips  apart,  listening,  wondering,  during  this  prelude. 
Ware's  references  to  the  North  woods  had  touched 
lightly  some  dim  memory  of  her  own;  somewhere 
she  had  seen  moon-flooded,  snowy  woodlands  where 
silence  lay  upon  the  world  as  soft  as  moonlight  itself. 
The  picture  drawn  by  the  minister  had  been  vivid 
enough ;  for  a  moment  her  own  memory  of  a  similar 
winter  landscape  seemed  equally  clear;  but  she  real 
ized  with  impatience  that  it  faded  quickly  and  be 
came  dim  and  illusory,  like  a  scene  in  an  ill-lighted 
steropticon.  To-night  she  felt  that  a  barrier  lay 
between  her  and  those  years  of  her  life  that  ante 
dated  her  coming  to  her  grandfather's  house  by  the 
college.  It  troubled  her,  as  such  mirages  of  memory 
trouble  all  of  us;  but  Ware  finished  his  story,  and 
amid  the  laughter  that  followed  Mrs.  Martin  rose. 

"Late  hours,  Sylvia,"  said  Professor  Kelton  when 
they  were  alone.  "It's  nearly  eleven  o'clock  and 
time  to  turn  in." 


CHAPTER   IV 

WE  LEARN   MORE  OF   SYLVIA 

ANDREW  KELTON  put  out  his  hand  to  say 
good-night  a  moment  after  Sylvia  had 
vanished. 

"Sit  down,  Andrew,"  said  Mrs.  Owen.  "It's  too 
early  to  go  to  bed.  That  draft's  not  good  for  the 
back  of  your  head.  Sit  over  here." 

He  had  relaxed  after  the  departure  of  the  dinner 
guests  and  looked  tired  and  discouraged.  Mrs. 
Owen  brought  a  bottle  of  whiskey  and  a  pitcher  of 
water  and  placed  them  near  his  elbow. 

"Try  it,  Andrew.  I  usually  take  a  thimbleful  my 
self  before  going  to  bed." 

The  novelty  of  this  sort  of  ministration  was  in 
itself  sufficient  to  lift  a  weary  and  discouraged  spirit. 
Mrs.  Owen  measured  his  whiskey,  and  poured  it  into 
a  tall  glass,  explaining  as  she  did  so  that  a  friend  of 
hers  in  Louisville  kept  her  supplied  out  of  the  stores 
of  the  Pendennis  Club. 

"It's  off  the  wood.  This  bottled  drug-store  whis 
key  is  poison.  I  'd  just  as  lief  take  paregoric.  I  drew 
this  from  my  own  'barT  this  morning.  Don't 
imagine  I  'm  a  heavy  consumer.  A  *  bar'l'  lasts  me  a 
long  time.  I  divide  it  around  among  my  friends. 
Remind  me  to  give  you  some  to  take  home.  Try 
one  of  those  cigars;  John  Ware  keeps  a  box  here.  If 
they're  cabbage  leaf  it  is  n't  my  fault." 

(62) 


WE  LEARN  MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

"No,  thanks,  Sally.  You're  altogether  too  kind 
to  me.  It's  mighty  good  to  be  here,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Now  that  you  are  here,  Andrew,  I  want  you  to 
remember  that  I'm  getting  on  and  you're  just  a 
trifle  ahead  of  me  on  the  dusty  pike  that  has  no 
turning." 

"I  wish  I  had  your  eternal  youth,  Sally.  I  feel 
about  ninety-nine  to-night." 

"That's  the  reason  I'm  keeping  you  up.  You 
came  here  to  talk  about  something  that's  on  your 
mind,  and  the  sooner  it's  over  the  better.  No  use 
in  your  lying  awake  all  night." 

Professor  Kelton  played  with  his  glass  and  moved 
uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"Come  right  out  with  it,  Andrew.  If  it's  money 
that  worries  you,  don't  waste  any  time  explaining 
how  it  happened;  just  tell  me  how  much.  I  had  my 
bank  book  balanced  yesterday  and  I  've  got  exactly 
twelve  thousand  four  hundred  and  eighteen  dollars 
and  eleven  cents  down  at  Tom  Adams's  bank.  If 
you  can  use  it  you  're  welcome;  if  it  ain't  enough  I  'm 
about  to  sell  a  bunch  o'  colts  I  've  got  on  my  Lexing 
ton  place  and  they're  good  for  six  thousand  more.  I 
can  close  the  trade  by  a  night  telegram  right  now." 

Kelton  laughed.  The  sums  she  named  so  lightly 
represented  wealth  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice. 
It  afforded  him  infinite  relief  to  be  able  to  talk  to 
her,  and  though  he  had  come  to  the  city  for  the 
purpose,  his  adventures  of  the  day  with  banks  and 
trust  companies  had  given  a  new  direction  to  his 
needs.  But  the  habit  of  secrecy,  of  fighting  out  his 
battles  alone,  was  so  thoroughly  established  that 

(63) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

he  found  it  difficult  to  enter  into  confidences  even 
when  this  kind-hearted  friend  made  the  way  easy  for 
him. 

"Come,  out  with  it,  Andrew.  You're  the  only 
person  I  know  who 's  never  come  to  me  with  troubles. 
I  'd  begun  to  think  you  were  among  the  lucky  ones 
who  never  have  any  or  else  you  were  afraid  of  me." 

"It's  not  fair  to  trouble  you  about  this,  but  I'm 
in  a  corner  where  I  need  help.  When  I  asked  you  to 
let  me  bring  Sylvia  here  I  merely  wanted  you  to 
look  her  over.  She's  got  to  an  age  where  I  can't 
trust  my  judgment  about  her.  I  had  a  plan  for  her 
that  I  thought  I  could  put  through  without  much 
trouble,  but  I  found  out  to-day  that  it  is  n't  so  easy. 
I  wanted  to  send  her  to  college." 

"You  want  to  send  her  to  college  and  you  thought 
you  would  come  over  and  let  me  give  her  a  little 
motherly  counsel  while  you  borrowed  the  money 
of  Tom  Adams  to  pay  her  college  bills.  Is  that 
what's  happened?" 

"Just  about  that,  Sally.  Adams  is  all  right;  he 
has  to  protect  the  bank." 

"Adams  is  a  doddering  imbecile.  How  much  did 
you  ask  him  for?" 

"Five  thousand  dollars.  I  offered  to  put  up  my 
life  insurance  policy  for  that  amount  and  some  stock 
I  own.  He  said  money  was  tight  just  now  and  they  'd 
want  a  good  name  on  the  paper  besides  the  collateral, 
and  that  I  'd  better  try  my  home  bank.  I  did  n't  do 
that,  of  course,  because  Montgomery  is  a  small  town 
and  —  well,  I  'd  rather  not  advertise  my  affairs  to  a 
whole  community.  I  'm  not  a  business  man  and  these 

(64) 


WE  LEARN  MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

things  all  seem  terribly  complicated  and  embarrassing 
to  me." 

"But  you  tried  other  places  besides  Adams?  I 
saw  it  in  your  eye  when  you  came  home  this  even 
ing  that  you  had  struck  a  snag.  Well,  well!  So 
money  is  tight,  is  it?  I  must  speak  to  Tom  Adams 
about  that.  He  told  me  yesterday  they  had  more 
money  than  they  could  lend  and  that  the  banks  were 
cutting  down  their  dividends.  He's  no  banker;  he 
ought  to  be  in  the  old-clothes  business." 

"I  can't  blame  him.  I  suppose  my  not  being  in 
business,  and  not  living  here,  makes  a  difference." 

"Rubbish!  But  you  ought  to  have  come  to  me. 
You  spoke  of  stock;  what 's  that  in?" 

"Shares  in  the  White  River  Canneries.  I  put  all  I 
had  in  that  company.  Everybody  seemed  to  make 
money  in  the  canning  business  and  I  thought  it 
would  be  a  good  investment.  It  promised  well  in 
the  prospectus." 

"It  always  does,  Andrew,"  replied  the  old  lady 
dryly.  "Let  me  see,  Morton  Bassett  was  in  that." 

"  I  believe  so.   He  was  one  of  the  organizers." 

"Urn." 

"Adams  told  me  to-day  there  had  been  a  reor 
ganization  and  that  my  shares  were  valueless." 

"Well,  wrell.  So  you  were  one  of  the  suckers  that 
put  money  into  that  canning  scheme.  You  can 
charge  it  off,  Andrew.  Let's  drop  the  money  ques 
tion  for  a  minute,  I  want  to  talk  about  the  little 
girl." 

"Yes.  I'm  anxious  to  know  what  you  think  of 
her." 

(65) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Well,  she's  a  Kelton;  it's  in  the  eyes;  but  there's 
a  good  deal  of  her  Grandmother  Evans  in  her,  too. 
Let  me  see,  —  your  wife  was  one  of  those  Posey 
County  Evanses?  I  remember  perfectly.  The  old 
original  Evans  came  to  this  country  with  Robert 
Owen  and  started  in  with  the  New  Harmony  com 
munity  down  there.  There  was  a  streak  o'  genius  in 
that  whole  set.  But  about  Sylvia.  I  don't  think  I 
ever  saw  Sylvia's  mother  after  she  was  Sylvia's  age." 

"f  don't  think  you  did.  She  was  away  at  school 
a  good  many  years.  Sylvia  is  the  picture  of  her 
mother.  It's  a  striking  likeness;  but  their  natures 
are  wholly  different." 

He  was  very  grave,  and  the  despondency  that  he 
had  begun  to  throw  off  settled  upon  him  again. 

"Andrew,  who  was  Sylvia's  father?  I  never  asked 
you  that  question  before,  and  maybe  I  ought  n't  to 
ask  it  now;  but  I've  often  wondered.  Let  me  see, 
what  was  your  daughter's  name?" 

"Edna." 

"Just  what  happened  to  Edna,  Andrew?"  she 
persisted. 

Kelton  rose  and  paced  the  floor.  Thrice  he  crossed 
the  room ;  then  he  flung  himself  down  on  the  daven 
port  beside  Mrs.  Owen. 

"  I  don't  know,  Sally;  I  don't  know!  She  was  high- 
spirited  as  a  girl,  a  little  willful  and  impulsive,  but 
with  the  best  heart  in  the  world.  She  lost  her  mother 
too  soon ;  and  in  her  girlhood  we  had  no  home  —  not 
even  the  half-homes  possible  to  naval  officers.  She 
had  a  good  natural  voice  and  wanted  to  study 
music,  so  after  we  had  been  settled  at  Madison  Col- 

(66) 


WE  LEARN   MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

lege  a  year  I  left  her  in  New  York  with  a  woman  I 
knew  pretty  well  —  the  widow  of  a  brother  officer. 
It  was  a  horrible,  terrible,  hideous  mistake.  The  life 
of  the  city  went  to  her  head.  She  wanted  to  fit  her 
self  for  the  stage  and  they  told  me  she  could  do  it  - 
had  the  gift  and  all  that.  I  ought  never  to  have  left 
her  down  there,  but  what  could  I  do?  There  was 
nothing  in  a  town  like  Montgomery  for  her;  she 
would  n't  listen  to  it." 

"You  did  your  best,  Andrew;  you  don't  have  to 
prove  that  to  me.  Well  - 

"Edna  ran  off  —  without  giving  me  any  hint  of 
what  was  coming.  It  was  a  queer  business.  The 
woman  I  had  counted  on  to  look  out  for  her  and  pro 
tect  her  seemed  utterly  astonished  at  her  disap 
pearance  and  was  helpless  about  the  whole  matter 
when  I  went  down  there.  It  was  my  fault  —  all  my 
fault!" 

He  rose  and  flung  up  his  arms  with  a  gesture  of 
passionate  despair. 

"Sit  down,  Andrew,  and  let's  go  through  with  it," 
she  said  calmly.  "I  reckon  these  things  are  hard, 
but  it's  better  for  you  to  tell  me.  You  can't  tell 
everybody  and  somebody  ought  to  know.  For  the 
sake  of  the  little  girl  upstairs  you'd  better  tell  me." 

"What  I  've  said  to  you  I  Ve  never  said  to  a  soul," 
he  went  on.  "  I  've  carried  this  thing  all  these  years 
and  have  never  mentioned  it.  My  friends  at  the 
college  are  the  noblest  people  on  earth;  they  have 
never  asked  questions,  but  they  must  have  won 
dered." 

"Yes;  and  I  Ve  wondered,  too,  since  the  first  time 
'    (67) 


A  HOOSIER    CHRONICLE 

you  came  here  and  told  me  you  had  brought  your 
daughter's  child  home.  It's  perfectly  natural, 
Andrew,  for  folks  to  wonder.  Go  on  and  tell  me  the 
rest." 

"The  rest!"  he  cried.  "Oh,  that's  the  hardest 
part  of  it !  I  have  told  you  all  I  know !  She  wrote  me 
after  a  time  that  she  was  married  and  was  happy, 
but  she  did  n't  explain  her  conduct  in  any  way.  She 
signed  herself  Garrison,  but  begged  me  not  to  try 
to  find  her.  She  said  her  husband  was  n't  quite  pre 
pared  to  disclose  his  marriage  to  his  family,  but  that 
it  would  all  be  right  soon.  The  woman  with  whom  I 
had  left  her  could  n't  help  me  to  identify  him  in  any 
way;  at  least  she  did  n't  help  me.  There  had  been 
a  number  of  young  men  boarding  in  the  neighbor 
hood —  medical  and  law  students;  but  there  was  no 
Garrison  among  them.  It  was  in  June  that  this 
happened,  and  when  I  went  down  to  try  to  trace  her 
they  had  all  gone.  I  was  never  quite  sure  whether 
the  woman  dealt  squarely  with  me  or  not.  But  it 
was  my  fault,  Sally;  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  have 
no  excuse  to  offer.  I  don't  want  you  to  try  to  say 
anything  that  would  make  my  lot  easier." 

It  was  not  Sally  Owen's  way  to  extenuate  errors 
of  commission  or  omission.  Her  mental  processes 
were  always  singularly  direct. 

"Are  you  sure  she  was  married;  did  you  find  any 
proof  of  it?"  she  asked  bluntly. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  before  he  met  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  no  proof  of  it.  All  I  have  is  Edna's  assur 
ance  in  a  letter." 

Their  gaze  held  while  they  read  each  other's 

(68)  ' 


WE  LEARN  MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

thoughts.  She  made  no  comment;  there  was  nothing 
to  say  to  this,  nor  did  she  show  surprise  or  repug 
nance  at  the  dark  shadow  his  answer  had  flung 
across  the  meagre  picture. 

"  And  Garrison  —  who  was  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  even  that!  From  all  I  could  learn 
I  think  it  likely  he  was  a  student  in  one  of  the  pro 
fessional  schools;  but  whether  law  or  medicine,  art 
or  music  —  I  could  n't  determine.  The  whole  colony 
of  students  had  scattered  to  the  four  winds.  Prob 
ably  Garrison  was  not  his  real  name;  but  that  is 
wholly  an  assumption." 

"  It's  clear  enough  that  whoever  the  man  was,  and 
whether  it  was  straight  or  not,  Edna  felt  bound  to 
shield  him.  That's  just  like  us  fool  women.  How  did 
Sylvia  come  to  your  hands?" 

"There  was  nothing  in  that  to  help.  About  four 
years  had  passed  since  I  lost  track  of  her  and  I  had 
traveled  all  over  the  East  and  followed  every  clue 
in  vain.  I  spent  two  summers  in  New  York  walking 
the  streets  in  the  blind  hope  that  I  might  meet  her. 
Then,  one  day,  —  this  was  twelve  years  ago, -- I 
had  a  telegram  from  the  superintendent  of  a  public 
hospital  at  Utica  that  Edna  was  there  very  ill.  She 
died  before  I  got  there.  Just  how  she  came  to  be  in 
that  particular  place  I  have  no  idea.  The  hospital 
authorities  knew  nothing  except  that  she  had  gone 
to  them,  apparently  from  the  train,  seriously  ill. 
The  little  girl  was  with  her.  She  asked  them  to  send 
for  me,  but  told  them  nothing  of  herself.  She  had 
only  hand  baggage  and  it  told  us  nothing  as  to  her 
home  if  she  had  one,  or  where  she  was  going.  Her 

(69) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

clothing,  the  nurse  pointed  out,  was  of  a  style  several 
years  old,  but  it  was  clean  and  neat.  Most  surprising 
of  all,  she  had  with  her  several  hundred  dollars;  but 
there  was  nothing  whatever  by  which  to  reconstruct 
her  life  in  those  blank  years/' 

"But  she  wrote  to  you  —  the  letters  would  have 
given  a  clue  of  some  kind?" 

"The  few  letters  she  wrote  me  were  the  most 
fragmentary  and  all  in  the  first  year;  they  were  like 
her,  poor  child;  her  letters  were  always  the  merest 
scraps.  In  all  of  them  she  said  she  would  come  home 
in  due  course;  that  some  of  her  husband's  affairs  had 
to  be  straightened  out  first,  and  that  she  was  per 
fectly  happy.  They  were  traveling  about,  she  said, 
and  she  asked  me  not  to  try  to  write  to  her.  The  first 
letters  came  from  Canada  —  Montreal  and  Quebec ; 
then  one  from  Albany;  then  even  these  messages 
ceased  and  I  heard  no  more  until  the  telegram  called 
me  to  Utica.  She  had  never  mentioned  the  birth  of 
the  child.  I  don't  know —  I  don't  even  know  where 
Sylvia  was  born,  or  her  exact  age.  The  nurse  at  the 
hospital  said  Edna  called  the  child  Sylvia." 

"I  overheard  Sylvia  telling  Ware  to-night  that 
she  was  born  in  New  York.  Could  it  be  possible  - 

"No;  she  knows  nothing.  You  must  remember 
that  she  was  only  three.  When  she  began  to  ask  me 
when  her  birthday  came  —  well,  Sally,  I  felt  that 
I  'd  better  give  her  one;  and  I  told  her,  too,  that  she 
was  born  in  New  York  City.  You  understand  — ?" 

"Of  course,  Andrew.  You  did  perfectly  right. 
She's  likely  to  ask  a  good  many  questions  now  that 
she's  growing  up." 

(70) 


WE  LEARN  MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

"Oh,"  he  cried  despairingly,  " she's  already  asked 
them!  It's  a  heartbreaking  business,  I  tell  you. 
Many  a  time  when  she's  piped  up  in  our  walks  or 
at  the  table  with  some  question  about  her  father  and 
mother  I've  ignored  it  or  feigned  not  to  hear;  but 
within  the  past  year  or  two  I  've  had  to  fashion  a 
background  for  her.  I  've  surrounded  her  origin  and 
antecedents  with  a  whole  tissue  of  lies.  But,  Sally,  it 
must  have  been  all  right  —  I  had  Edna's  own  word 
for  it!"  he  pleaded  brokenly.  "It  must  have  been 
all  right!" 

1 '  Well,  what  if  it  was  n't !  Does  it  make  any  differ 
ence  about  the  girl?  All  this  mystery  is  a  good  thing; 
the  denser  the  better  maybe,  as  long  as  there 's  any 
doubt  at  all.  Your  good  name  protects  her;  it's  a 
good  name,  Andrew.  But  go  on;  you  may  as  well 
tell  me  the  whole  business." 

"  I  Ve  told  you  all  I  know;  and  as  I  've  told  it  I  Ve 
realized  more  than  before  how  pitifully  little  it  is." 

"Well,  there's  nothing  to  do  about  that.  I've 
never  seen  any  sense  in  worrying  over  what's  done. 
It's  the  future  you've  got  to  figure  on  for  Sylvia. 
So  you  think  college  is  a  good  thing  for  girls  —  for 
a  girl  like  Sylvia?" 

"Yes;  but  I  want  your  opinion.  You're  the  only 
person  in  the  world  I  can  talk  to;  it's  helped  me  more 
than  I  can  tell  you  to  shift  some  of  this  burden  to 
you.  Maybe  it  is  n't  fair;  you're  a  busy  woman  - 

"  I  guess  I  'm  not  so  busy.  I  Ve  been  getting  lazy, 
and  needed  a  hard  jolt.  I  Ve  been  wondering  a  good 
deal  about  these  girls'  colleges.  Some  of  this  new 
woman  business  looks  awful  queer  to  me,  but  so  did 

(71) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  electric  light  and  the  telephone  a  few  years  ago 
and  I  can  even  remember  when  people  were  likely 
to  drop  dead  when  they  got  their  first  telegram. 
Sylvia  isn't'*  —she  hesitated  for  an  instant — "from 
what  you  say,  Sylvia  is  n't  much  like  her  mother?" 

"No.  Her  qualities  are  wholly  different.  Edna  had 
a  different  mind  altogether.  There  was  nothing  of  the 
student  about  her.  The  only  thing  that  interested 
her  was  music,  and  that  came  natural  to  her.  I  've 
studied  Sylvia  carefully,  —  I'm  ashamed  to  confess 
how  carefully,  --  fearing  that  she  would  grow  to  be 
like  her  mother;  but  she's  another  sort,  and  I  doubt 
if  she  will  change.  You  can  already  see  the  woman 
in  her.  That  child,  Sally,  has  in  her  the  making  of 
a  great  woman.  I  Ve  been  careful  not  to  crowd  her, 
but  she  has  a  wonderful  mind,  —  not  the  brilliant 
sort  that  half  sees  things  in  lightning  flashes,  but  a 
vigorous  mind,  that  can  grapple  with  a  problem  and 
fight  it  out.  I  'm  afraid  to  tell  you  how  remarkable 
I  think  she  is.  No;  poor  Edna  was  not  like  that.  She 
hated  study." 

"Sylvia  's  very  quiet,  but  I  reckon  she  takes  every 
thing  in.  It's  in  her  eyes  that  she's  different.  And 
I  guess  that  quietness  means  she's  got  power  locked 
up  in  her.  Children  do  show  it.  Now  Marian,  my 
grandniece,  is  a  different  sort.  She's  a  forthputting 
youngster  that's  going  to  be  hard  to  break  to  harness. 
She  looks  pretty,  grazing  in  the  pasture  and  kicking 
up  her  heels,  but  I  don't  see  what  class  she 's  going 
to  fit  into.  Now,  Hallie,  —  my  niece,  Mrs.  Bassett, 
—  she's  one  of  these  club  fussers,  —  always  study 
ing  poetry  and  reading  papers  and  coming  up  to 

(72) 


WE  LEARN  MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

town  to  state  conventions  or  federations  and  speak 
ing  pieces  in  a  new  hat.  Hallie's  smart  at  it.  She 
was  president  of  the  Daughters  once,  by  way  of 
showing  that  our  folks  in  North  Carolina  fought  in 
the  Revolution,  which  I  reckon  they  did;  though 
I  never  saw  where  Hallie  proved  it;  but  the  speech 
I  heard  her  make  at  the  Propylaeum  would  n't  have 
jarred  things  much  if  it  had  n't  been  for  Haliie's 
feathers.  She  likes  her  clothes  —  she  always  had  'em, 
you  know.  My  brother  Blackford  left  her  a  very  nice 
fortune;  and  Morton  Bassett  makes  money.  Well, 
as  I  started  to  say,  there's  all  kinds  of  women,  — 
the  old  ones  like  me  that  never  went  to  school  much, 
and  Hallie's  kind,  that  sort  o'  walked  through  the 
orchard  and  picked  the  nearest  peaches,  and  then 
starts  in  at  thirty  to  take  courses  in  Italian  Art,  and 
Marian,  who  gives  her  teachers  nervous  prostration, 
and  Sylvia,  who  takes  to  books  naturally." 

"There  are  all  kinds  of  girls,  just  as  there  are  all 
kinds  of  boys.  Good  students,  real  scholars  have  al 
ways  been  rare  in  the  world  —  men  and  women. 
I  should  like  to  see  Sylvia  go  high  and  far;  I  should 
like  her  to  have  every  chance." 

"All  right,  Andrew;  let's  do  it.  How  much  does 
a  college  course  cost  for  a  girl?" 

"  I  did  n't  come  here  to  interest  you  in  the  money 
side  of  it,  Sally;  I  expected  — " 

"Answer  my  question,  Andrew." 

"  I  had  expected  to  give  her  a  four-year  course  for 
five  thousand  dollars.  The  actual  tuition  is  n't  so 
much;  it's  railroad  fare,  clothing,  and  other  ex 
penses." 

(73) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Mrs.  Owen  turned  towards  Kelton  with  a  smile  on 
her  kind,  shrewd  face. 

"Andrew,  just  to  please  me,  I  want  you  to  let  me 
be  partners  with  you  in  this.  What  you  Ve  told  me 
and  what  I  Ve  seen  of  that  little  girl  have  clinched 
me  pretty  strong.  I  wish  she  was  mine!  My  little 
Elizabeth  would  be  a  grown  woman  if  she'd  lived; 
and  because  of  her  I  like  to  help  other  people's  little 
girls;  you  know  I  helped  start  Elizabeth  House,  a 
home  for  working  girls  —  and  I  'm  getting  my  money 
back  on  that  a  thousand  times  over.  It's  a  pretty 
state  of  things  if  an  old  woman  like  me,  without  a 
chick  of  my  own,  and  with  no  sense  but  horse  sense, 
can't  back  a  likely  filly  like  your  Sylvia.  I  want  you 
to  let  me  call  her  our  Sylvia.  We'll  train  her  in  all 
the  paces,  Andrew,  and  I  hope  one  of  us  will  live  to 
see  her  strike  the  home  stretch.  Come  into  my  office 
a  minute,"  she  said,  rising  and  leading  the  way. 

The  appointments  of  her  "  office  "  were  plain  and 
substantial.  A  flat-topped  desk  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  —  a  relic  of  the  lamented  Jackson  Owen ; 
in  one  corner  was  an  old-fashioned  iron  safe  in  which 
she  kept  her  account  books.  A  print  of  Maud  S. 
adorned  one  wall,  and  facing  it  across  the  room  hung 
a  lithograph  of  Thomas  A.  Hendricks.  Twice  a  week 
a  young  woman  came  to  assist  Mrs.  Owen  with  her 
correspondence  and  accounts,  —  a  concession  to  age, 
for  until  she  was  well  along  in  the  fifties  Sally  Owen 
had  managed  these  things  alone. 

"You've  seen  my  picture-gallery  before,  Andrew? 
Small  but  select.  I  knew  both  the  lady  and  the  gen 
tleman,"  she  continued,  with  one  of  her  humorous 

(74) 


WE  LEARN  MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

flashes.  "  I  went  to  Cleveland  in  '85  to  see  Maud  S. 
She  ate  up  a  mile  in  2:o8|  —  the  prettiest  thing  I 
ever  saw.  You  know  Bonner  bought  her  as  a  four- 
year-old  —  the  same  Bonner  that  owned  the  '  New 
York  Ledger.'  I  used  to  read  the  'Ledger'  clear 
through,  when  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  Fanny 
Fern  wrote  for  it.  None  of  these  new  magazines 
touch  it.  And  you  knew  Tom  Hendricks?  That's 
a  good  picture.  Tom  looked  like  a  statesman  any 
how,  and  that's  more  than  most  of  'em  do." 

She  continued  her  efforts  to  divert  his  thoughts 
from  the  real  matter  at  hand,  summoning  from  the 
shadows  all  the  Hoosier  statesmen  of  the  post-bellum 
period  to  aid  her,  and  she  purposely  declared  her 
admiration  of  several  of  these  to  provoke  Kelton's 
ire. 

"  That 's  right,  Andrew ;  jump  on  'em,"  she  laughed, 
as  she  drew  from  the  desk  a  check  book  and  began  to 
write.  When  she  had  blotted  and  torn  out  the  check 
she  examined  it  carefully  and  placed  it  near  him  on 
the  edge  of  her  desk.  "  Now,  Andrew  Kelton,  there's 
a  check  for  six  thousand  dollars;  we'll  call  that  our 
educational  fund.  You  furnish  the  girl;  I  put  in  the 
money.  I  only  wish  I  had  the  girl  to  put  into  the 
business  instead  of  the  cash." 

"But  I  don't  need  the  money  yet;  I  shan't  need 
it  till  fall,"  he  protested. 

"That's  all  right.  Fall's  pretty  close  and  you'll 
feel  better  if  you  have  it.  Now,  you  may  count  on 
more  when  that's  gone  if  you  want  it.  In  case  any 
thing  goes  wrong  with  you  or  me  it'll  be  fixed.  I'll 
attend  to  it.  I  look  on  it  as  a  good  investment.  Your 

(75)  ' 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

note?  Look  here,  Andrew  Kelton,  if  you  mention 
that  life  insurance  to  me  again,  I  '11  cut  your  ac 
quaintance.  You  go  to  bed;  and  don't  you  ever  let 
on  to  that  baby  upstairs  that  I  have  any  hand  in  her 
schooling."  She  dropped  her  check  book  into  a  drawer 
and  swung  round  in  her  swivel  chair  until  she  faced 
him.  "  I  don't  want  to  open  up  that  affair  of  Sylvia's 
mother  again,  but  there  's  always  the  possibility 
that  something  may  happen.  You  know  Edna's 
dead,  but  there's  always  a  chance  that  Sylvia's 
father  may  turn  up.  It's  not  likely;  but  there's  no 
telling  about  such  things;  and  it  would  n't  be  quite 
fair  for  you  to  leave  her  unprepared  if  it  should  hap 
pen." 

'There's  one  more  circumstance  I  haven't  told 
you  about.  It  happened  only  a  few  days  ago.  It 
was  that,  in  fact,  which  crystallized  my  own  ideas 
about  Sylvia's  education.  A  letter  was  sent  to  me 
by  a  stranger,  offering  money  for  Sylvia's  schooling. 
The  whole  thing  was  surrounded  with  the  utmost 
secrecy." 

"So?  Then  some  one  is  watching  Sylvia;  keeping 
track  of  her,  and  must  be  kindly  disposed  from  that. 
You  never  heard  anything  before?" 

"  Never.  I  was  asked  to  send  a  verbal  answer  by 
the  messenger  who  brought  me  the  letter,  accepting 
or  declining  the  offer.  I  declined  it." 

"That  was  right.  But  there's  no  hiding  anything 
in  this  world;  you  must  have  some  idea  where  the 
offer  came  from." 

"I  haven't  the  slightest,  not  the  remotest  idea. 
The  messenger  was  a  stranger  to  me;  from  what 

(76) 


WE  LEARN  MORE  OF  SYLVIA 

Sylvia  said  he  was  a  stranger  at  Montgomery  and 
had  never  seen  the  college  before.  Time  had  begun 
to  soften  the  whole  thing,  and  the  knowledge  that 
some  one  has  been  watching  the  child  all  these  years 
troubles  me.  It  roused  all  my  old  resentment;  I  have 
hardly  slept  since  it  occurred." 

"It's  queer;  but  you'd  better  try  to  forget  it. 
Somebody's  conscience  is  hurting,  I  reckon.  I 
would  n't  know  how  to  account  for  it  in  any  other 
way.  If  it's  a  case  of  conscience,  it  may  have  satis 
fied  itself  by  offering  money;  if  it  did  n't,  you  or 
Sylvia  may  hear  from  it  again." 

"It's  just  that  that  hurts  and  worries  me,  —  the 
possibility  that  this  person  may  trouble  Sylvia  some 
time  when  I  am  not  here  to  help  her.  It's  an  awful 
thing  for  a  woman  to  go  out  into  the  world  followed 
by  a  shadow.  It's  so  much  worse  for  a  woman; 
women  are  so  helpless." 

"Some  of  us,  like  me,  are  pretty  tough,  too.  Syl 
via  will  be  able  to  take  care  of  herself;  you  don't 
need  to  worry  about  her.  If  that's  gnawing  some 
man's  conscience  —  and  I  reckon  it  is  —  you  can 
forget  all  about  it.  A  man's  conscience  —  the  kind 
of  man  that  would  abandon  a  woman  he  had  mar 
ried,  or  maybe  had  n't  married  —  ain't  going  to  be 
a  ghost  that  walks  often.  You'd  better  go  to  bed, 
Andrew." 

Kelton  lingered  to  smoke  a  cigar  in  the  open.  He 
had  enjoyed  to-night  an  experience  that  he  had  not 
known  in  years  —  that  of  unburdening  himself  to  a 
kindly,  sympathetic,  and  resourceful  woman. 

While  they  talked  of  her,  Sylvia  sat  in  her  window- 

(77) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

seat  in  the  dark  above  looking  at  the  stars.  She  lin 
gered  there  until  late,  enjoying  the  cool  air,  and  un 
willing  to  terminate  in  sleep  so  eventful  a  day.  She 
heard  presently  her  grandfather's  step  below  as  he 
"stood  watch,"  marking  his  brief  course  across  the 
dim  garden  by  the  light  of  his  cigar.  Sylvia  was 
very  happy.  She  had  for  a  few  hours  breathed  the 
ampler  ether  of  a  new  world;  but  she  was  uncon 
scious  in  her  dreaming  that  her  girlhood,  that  had 
been  as  tranquil  water  safe  from  current  and  commo 
tion,  now  felt  the  outward  drawing  of  the  tide. 


CHAPTER  V 

INTRODUCING   MR.    DANIEL   HARWOOD 

ON  the  day  following  the  delivery  to  Andrew 
Kelton  of  the  letter  in  which  money  for 
Sylvia's  education  was  offered  by  an  un 
known  person,  the  bearer  of  the  message  was  to  be 
seen  at  Indianapolis,  in  the  law  office  of  Wright  and 
Fitch,  attorneys  and  counselors  at  law,  on  the  fourth 
floor  of  the  White  River  Trust  Company's  building 
in  Washington  Street.  In  that  office  young  Mr. 
Harwood  was  one  of  half  a  dozen  students,  who  ran 
errands  to  the  courts,  kept  the  accounts,  and  other 
wise  made  themselves  useful. 

Wright  and  Fitch  was  the  principal  law  firm  in 
the  state  in  the  period  under  scrutiny,  as  may 
readily  be  proved  by  an  examination  of  the  court 
dockets.  The  firm's  practice  was,  however,  limited. 
Persons  anxious  to  mulct  wicked  corporations  in 
damages  for  physical  injuries  did  not  apply  to  Wright 
and  Fitch,  for  the  excellent  reason  that  this  capable 
firm  was  retained  by  most  of  the  public  service 
corporations  and  had  no  time  to  waste  on  the  petty 
and  vexatious  claims  of  minor  litigants.  Mr.  Wright 
was  a  Republican,  Mr.  Fitch  a  Democrat,  and  each 
of  these  gentlemen  occasionally  raised  his  voice 
loud  enough  in  politics  to  emphasize  his  party  fealty. 
In  the  seventies  Mr.  Wright  had  served  a  term  as 

(79) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

city  attorney;  on  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Fitch  had  once 
declined  the  Italian  ambassadorship.  Both  had  been 
mentioned  at  different  times  for  the  governorship 
or  for  the  United  States  Senate,  and  both  had  de 
clined  to  enter  the  lists  for  these  offices. 

Daniel  Harwood  had  been  graduated  from  Yale 
University  a  year  before  we  first  observed  him,  and 
though  the  world  lay  before  him  where  to  choose, 
he  returned  to  his  native  state  and  gave  himself  to 
the  study  of  law  by  day  and  earned  a  livelihood  by 
serving  the  "Courier"  newspaper  by  night.  As  Mr. 
Harwood  is  to  appear  frequently  in  this  chronicle, 
it  may  be  well  to  summarize  briefly  the  facts  of  his 
history.  He  was  born  on  a  farm  in  Harrison  County, 
and  his  aversion  to  farm  life, had  been  colored  from 
earliest  childhood  by  the  difficulties  his  father  experi 
enced  in  wringing  enough  money  out  of  eighty  acres 
of  land  to  buy  food  and  clothing  and  to  pay  taxes 
and  interest  on  an  insatiable  mortgage  held  some 
where  by  a  ruthless  life  insurance  company  that 
seemed  most  unreasonably  insistent  in  its  collec 
tions.  Daniel  had  two  older  brothers  who,  having 
satisfied  their  passion  for  enlightenment  at  the 
nearest  schoolhouse,  meekly  enlisted  under  their 
father  in  the  task  of  fighting  the  mortgage.  Daniel, 
with  a  weaker  hand  and  a  better  head,  and  with 
vastly  more  enterprise,  resolved  to  go  to  Yale.  This 
seemed  the  most  fatuous,  the  most  profane  of 
ambitions.  If  college  at  all,  why  not  the  State 
University,  to  support  which  the  Harwood  eighty 
acres  were  taxed;  but  a  college  away  off  in  Con 
necticut!  There  were  no  precedents  for  this  in 

(so) 


INTRODUCING  MR.   DANIEL  HARWOOD 

Harrison  County.  No  Harwood  within  the  memory 
of  man  had  ever  adventured  farther  into  the  un 
known  world  than  to  the  State  Fair  at  Indianapolis; 
and  when  it  came  to  education,  both  the  judge  of 
the  Harrison  County  Circuit  Court  and  the  presiding 
elder  of  the  district  had  climbed  to  fame  without 
other  education  than  that  afforded  by  the  common 
schools.  Daniel's  choice  of  Yale  had  been  deter 
mined  by  the  fact  that  a  professor  in  that  institu 
tion  had  once  addressed  the  county  teachers,  and 
young  Harwood  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  him. 
The  Yale  professor  was  the  first  graduate  of  an 
Eastern  university  that  Daniel  had  ever  seen,  and 
he  became  the  young  Hoosier's  ideal  of  elegance  and 
learning.  Daniel  had  acquired  at  this  time  all  that 
the  county  school  offered,  and  he  made  bold  to 
approach  the  visitor  and  ask  his  advice  as  to  the 
best  means  of  getting  to  college. 

We  need  not  trace  the  devious  course  by  which, 
after  much  burning  of  oil  during  half  a  dozen  win 
ters,  Dan  Harwood  attained  to  a  freshman's  dignity 
at  New  Haven,  where,  arriving  with  his  effects  in  a 
canvas  telescope,  he  had  found  a  scholarship  awaiting 
him;  nor  need  we  do  more  than  record  the  fact  that 
he  had  cared  for  furnaces,  taken  the  night  shift  on  a 
trolley  car,  and  otherwise  earned  money  until,  in  his 
junior  year,  his  income  from  newspaper  correspond 
ence  and  tutoring  made  further  manual  labor  un 
necessary.  It  is  with  profound  regret  that  we  cannot 
point  to  Harwood  as  a  football  hero  or  the  mainstay 
of  the  crew.  Having  ploughed  the  mortgaged  acres, 
and  tossed  hay  and  broken  colts,  college  athletics 

(81) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

struck  him  as  rather  puerile  diversion.  He  would 
have  been  the  least  conspicuous  man  in  college  if  he 
had  not  shone  in  debate  and  gathered  up  such  prizes 
and  honors  as  were  accessible  in  that  field.  His  big 
booming  voice,  recognizable  above  the  din  in  all 
Varsity  demonstrations,  earned  for  him  the  sobri 
quet  of  ' '  Foghorn ' '  Harwood.  For  the  rest  he  studied 
early  and  late,  and  experienced  the  doubtful  glory, 
and  accepted  meekly  the  reproach,  of  being  a  grind. 
History  and  the  dismal  science  had  interested  him 
immensely.  His  assiduous  attention  to  the  classes 
of  Professor  Sumner  had  not  gone  unnoticed  by  that 
eminent  instructor,  who  once  called  him  by  name 
in  Chapel  Street,  much  to  Dan's  edification.  He 
thought  well  of  belles-lettres  and  for  a  time  toyed 
with  an  ambition  to  enrich  English  literature  with 
contributions  of  his  own.  During  this  period  he  con 
tributed  to  the  "Lit"  a  sonnet  called  "The  Clam- 
Digger"  which  began:  — 

At  rosy  dawn  I  see  thine  argosy; 

and  which  closed  with  the  invocation:  — 

Fair  tides  reward  thy  long,  laborious  days. 

The  sonnet  was  neatly  parodied  in  the  "Record," 
and  that  journal  printed  a  gratuitous  defense  of  the 
fisherman  at  whom,  presumably,  the  poem  had  been 
directed.  "The  sonnet  discloses  nothing,"  said  the 
"Record,"  "as  to  the  race,  color,  or  previous  condi 
tion  of  servitude  of  the  unfortunate  clammer  to 
justify  a  son  of  Eli  in  attacking  a  poor  man  laudably 
engaged  in  a  perfectly  honorable  calling.  The  son 
neteer,  coming,  we  believe,  from  the  unsalt  waters  of 

(82) 


INTRODUCING  MR.   DANIEL  HARWOOD 

the  Wabash,  seems  to  be  unaware  that  the  fisher 
man  at  whom  he  has  leveled  his  tuneful  lyre  is  not 
seeking  fair  tides  but  clams.  We  therefore  suggest 
that  the  closing  line  of  the  sextette  be  amended  to 
read  — 

Fair  clams  reward  thy  long,  laborious  days." 

Harwood  was  liked  by  his  fellow  students  in  the 
law  office.  Two  Yalensians,  already  established 
there,  made  his  lot  easier,  and  they  combined  against 
a  lone  Harvardian,  who  bitterly  resented  Harwood 's 
habit  of  smoking  a  cob  pipe  in  the  library  at  night. 
The  bouquet  of  Dan's  pipe  was  pretty  well  dispelled 
by  morning  save  to  the  discerning  nostril  of  the 
Harvard  man,  who  protested  against  it,  and  said 
the  offense  was  indictable  at  common  law.  Harwood 
stood  stoutly  for  his  rights  and  privileges,  and  for 
Yale  democracy,  which  he  declared  his  pipe  exem 
plified.  There  was  much  good-natured  banter  of  this 
sort  in  the  office. 

Harwood  was  busy  filing  papers  when  Mr.  Fitch 
summoned  him  to  his  private  room  on  the  day  indi 
cated.  Fitch  was  short,  thin,  and  bald,  with  a  clipped 
reddish  beard,  brown  eyes,  and  a  turn-up  nose.  He 
was  considered  a  better  lawyer  than  Wright,  who 
was  the  orator  of  the  firm,  and  its  reliance  in  dealing 
with  juries.  In  the  preparation  of  briefs  and  in  oral 
arguments  before  the  Supreme  Court,  Fitch  was  the 
superior.  His  personal  peculiarities  had  greatly 
interested  Harwood;  as,  for  example,  Fitch's  man 
ner  of  locking  himself  in  his  room  for  days  at  a  time 
while  he  was  preparing  to  write  a  brief,  denying 
himself  to  all  visitors,  and  only  occasionally  calling 

(83) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

for  books  from  the  library.  Then,  when  he  had 
formulated  his  ideas,  he  summoned  the  stenographer 
and  dictated  at  one  sitting  a  brief  that  generally 
proved  to  be  the  reviewing  court's  own  judgment 
of  the  case  in  hand.  Some  of  Fitch's  fellow  practi 
tioners  intimated  at  times  that  he  was  tricky.  In 
conferences  with  opposing  counsel,  one  heard,  he 
required  watching,  as  he  was  wary  of  committing 
himself  and  it  was  difficult  to  discover  what  line  of 
reasoning  he  elected  to  oppose  or  defend.  In  such 
conferences  it  was  his  fashion  to  begin  any  state 
ment  that  might  seem  even  remotely  to  bind  him 
with  the  remark,  "I'm  just  thinking  aloud  on  that 
proposition  and  don't  want  to  be  bound  by  what  I 
say."  The  students  in  the  office,  to  whom  he  was 
unfailingly  courteous,  apostrophized  him  as  "the 
fox."  He  called  them  all  "Mister,"  and  occasion 
ally  flattered  them  by  presenting  a  hypothetical 
case  for  their  consideration. 

Fitch  was  sitting  before  the  immaculate  desk  he 
affected  (no  one  ever  dared  leave  anything  on  it  in 
his  absence)  when  Harwood  entered.  The  lawyer's 
chair  was  an  enormous  piece  of  furniture  in  which 
his  small  figure  seemed  to  shrink  and  hide.  His 
hands  were  thrust  into  his  pockets,  as  they  usually 
were,  and  he  piped  out  "Good-Morning"  in  a  high 
tenor  voice. 

"Shut  the  door,  please,  Mr.  Harwood.  What 
have  you  to  report  about  your  errand  to  Mont 
gomery?" 

He  indicated  with  a  nod  the  one  chair  in  the  room 
and  Harwood  seated  himself. 

(84) 


INTRODUCING  MR.  DANIEL  HARWOOD 

"I  found  Professor  Kelton  without  difficulty  and 
presented  the  letter/' 

"You  delivered  the  letter  and  you  have  told  no 
one  of  your  visit  to  Montgomery." 

11  No  one,  sir;  no  one  knows  I  have  been  away  from 
town.  I  handed  the  letter  to  the  gentleman  in  his 
own  house,  alone,  and  he  gave  me  his  answer." 

"Well?" 

"No  is  the  answer." 

Fitch  polished  his  eyeglasses  with  his  handker 
chief.  He  scrutinized  Harwood  carefully  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  asked :  — 

"Did  the  gentleman  —  whose  name,  by  the  way, 
you  have  forgotten  — " 

"Yes,  sir;  I  have  quite  forgotten  it,"  Harwood 
replied  promptly. 

"Did  he  show  any  feeling  —  indignation,  pique, 
as  he  read  the  letter?" 

"No;  but  he  read  it  carefully.  His  face  showed 
pain,  I  should  say,  sir,  rather  than  indignation.  He 
gave  his  negative  reply  coldly  —  a  little  sharply. 
He  was  very  courteous  —  a  gentleman,  I  should 
say,  beyond  any  question." 

"I  dare  say.  What  kind  of  an  establishment  did 
he  keep?" 

"A  small  cottage,  with  books  everywhere,  right 
by  the  campus.  A  young  girl  let  me  in;  she  spoke 
of  the  professor  as  her  grandfather.  She  went  off 
to  find  him  for  me  in  the  college  library." 

"A  young  person.   What  did  she  look  like?" 

"A  dark  young  miss,  with  black  hair  tied  with  a 
red  ribbon." 

(85) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Fitch  smiled. 

"You  are  sure  of  the  color,  are  you?  This  man 
lives  there  with  his  granddaughter,  and  the  place 
was  simple  —  comfortable,  no  luxuries.  You  had 
no  conversation  with  him." 

"  I  think  we  exchanged  a  word  about  the  weather, 
which  was  warm." 

Fitch  smiled  again.  His  was  a  rare  smile,  but  it 
was  worth  waiting  for. 

''What  did  the  trip  cost  you?" 

Harwood  named  the  amount  and  the  lawyer  drew 
a  check  book  from  his  impeccable  desk  and  wrote. 

"  I  have  added  one  hundred  dollars  for  your  serv 
ices.  This  is  a  personal  matter  between  you  and  me, 
and  does  not  go  on  the  office  books.  By  the  way,  Mr. 
Harwood,  what  are  you  doing  out  there?"  he  asked, 
moving  his  head  slightly  toward  the  outer  office. 

"I'm  reading  law." 

11  Is  it  possible!  The  other  youngsters  in  the  office 
seem  to  be  talking  politics  or  reading  newspapers 
most  of  the  time.  How  do  you  manage  to  live?" 

"I  do  some  work  for  the  'Courier'  from  time  to 
time." 

"Ah!  You  are  careful  not  to  let  your  legal  studies 
get  mixed  with  the  newspaper  work?" 

"Yes,  sir.  They  put  me  on  meetings,  and  other 
night  assignments.  As  to  the  confidences  of  this 
office,  you  need  have  no  fear  of  my  - 

"  I  have  n't,  Mr.  Harwood.  Let  me  see.  It  was  of 
you  Professor  Sumner  wrote  me  last  year;  he's  an 
old  friend  of  mine.  He  said  he  thought  you  had  a 
sinewy  mind  —  a  strong  phrase  for  Sumner." 

(86) 


INTRODUCING  MR.   DANIEL  HARWOOD 

"He  never  told  me  that,'*  said  Dan,  laughing. 
"He  several  times  implied  quite  the  reverse." 

"He's  a  great  man  —  Sumner.  I  suppose  you 
absorbed  a  good  many  of  his  ideas  at  New  Haven." 

"  I  hope  I  did,  sir:  I  believe  in  most  of  them  any 
how." 

"So  do  I,  Mr.  Harwood." 

Fitch  pointed  to  a  huge  pile  of  manuscript  on  a 
table  by  the  window.  It  was  a  stenographic  tran 
script  of  testimony  in  a  case  which  had  been  lost  in 
the  trial  court  and  was  now  going  up  on  appeal. 

"Digest  that  evidence  and  give  me  the  gist  of  it 
in  not  more  than  five  hundred  words.  That 's  all." 

Harwood's  hand  was  on  the  door  when  Fitch 
arrested  him  with  a  word. 

"To  recur  to  this  private  transaction  between  us, 
you  have  not  the  remotest  idea  what  was  in  that 
letter,  and  nothing  was  said  in  the  interview  that 
gave  you  any  hint  —  is  that  entirely  correct  ?" 

"Absolutely." 

"  Very  well.  I  know  nothing  of  the  matter  myself; 
I  am  merely  accommodating  a  friend.  We  need  not 
refer  to  this  again." 

When  the  door  had  closed,  the  lawyer  wrote  a 
brief  note  which  he  placed  in  his  pocket,  and  dropped 
later  into  a  letter-box  with  his  own  hand.  Mr. 
Fitch,  of  the  law  firm  of  Wright  and  Fitch,  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  acting  as  agent  in  matters  he  did  n't 
comprehend,  and  his  part  in  Harwood's  errand  was 
not  to  his  liking.  He  had  spoken  the  truth  when  he 
said  that  he  knew  no  more  of  the  nature  of  the  letter 
that  had  been  carried  to  Professor  Kelton  than  the 

(87) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

messenger,  and  Harwood's  replies  to  his  interroga 
tories  had  told  him  nothing. 

Many  matters,  however,  pressed  upon  his  atten 
tion  and  offered  abundant  exercise  for  his  curiosity. 
With  Harwood,  too,  pleased  to  have  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  one  hundred  dollars  in  cash,  the  inci 
dent  was  closed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

HOME  LIFE   OF   HOOSIER   STATESMEN 

IN  no  other  place  can  a  young  man  so  quickly 
attain  wisdom  as  in  a  newspaper  office.  There 
the  names  of  the  good  and  great  are  playthings, 
and  the  bubble  reputation  is  blown  lightly,  and  as 
readily  extinguished,  as  part  of  the  day's  business. 
No  other  employment  offers  so  many  excitements; 
in  nothing  else  does  the  laborer  live  so  truly  behind 
the  scenes.  The  stage  is  wide,  the  action  varied  and 
constant.  The  youngest  tyro,  watching  from  the 
wings,  observes  great  incidents  and  becomes  their 
hasty  historian.  The  reporter's  status  is  unique. 
Youth  on  the  threshold  of  no  other  profession  com 
mands  the  same  respect,  gains  audience  so  readily 
to  the  same  august  personages.  Doors  slammed  in 
his  face  only  flatter  his  self-importance.  He  becomes 
cynical  as  he  sees  how  easily  the  spot  light  is  made 
to  flash  upon  the  unworthiest  figures  by  the  flim 
siest  mechanism.  He  drops  his  plummet  into  shoal 
and  deep  water  and  from  his  contemplation  of  the 
wreck-littered  shore  grows  skeptical  of  the  wisdom 
of  all  pilots. 

Harwood's  connection  with  the  "  Courier"  brought 
him  in  touch  with  politics,  which  interested  him 
greatly.  The  "  Courier"  was  the  organ  of  the  Dem 
ocratic  Party  in  the  state,  and  though  his  father 

(89) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  brothers  in  the  country  were  Republicans,  Dan 
found  himself  more  in  sympathy  with  the  views 
represented  by  the  Democratic  Party,  even  after  it 
abandoned  its  ancient  conservatism  and  became 
aggressively  radical.  About  the  time  of  Harwood's 
return  to  his  native  state  the  newspaper  had  changed 
hands.  At  least  the  corporation  which  had  owned 
it  for  a  number  of  years  had  apparently  disposed 
of  it,  though  the  transaction  had  been  effected  so 
quietly  that  the  public  received  no  outward  hint 
beyond  the  deletion  of  "Published  by  the  Courier 
Newspaper  Company"  from  the  head  of  the  edit 
orial  page.  The  "policy"  of  the  paper  continued 
unchanged ;  the  editorial  staff  had  not  been  disturbed ; 
and  in  the  counting-room  there  had  been  no  revolu 
tion,  though  an  utterly  unknown  man  had  appeared 
bearing  the  title  of  General  Manager,  which  carried 
with  it  authority  in  all  departments. 

This  person  was  supposed  to  represent  the  un 
known  proprietor,  about  whom  there  had  been  the 
liveliest  speculation.  The  "Courier's"  rivals  gave 
much  space  to  rumors,  real  and  imaginary,  as  to  the 
new  ownership,  attributing  the  purchase  to  a  num 
ber  of  prominent  politicians  in  rapid  succession,  and 
to  syndicates  that  had  never  existed.  It  was  an  odd 
effect  of  the  change  in  the  "Courier's"  ownership 
that  almost  immediately  mystery  seemed  to  envelop 
the  editorial  rooms.  The  managing  editor,  whose 
humors  and  moods  fixed  the  tone  of  the  office,  may 
have  been  responsible,  but  whatever  the  cause  a 
stricter  discipline  was  manifest,  and  editors,  reporters 
and  copy-readers  moved  and  labored  with  a  con- 

(90) 


HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

sciousness  that  an  unknown  being  walked  among 
the  desks,  and  hung  over  the  forms  to  the  very 
last  moment  before  they  were  hurled  to  the  stereo- 
typers.  The  editorial  writers  —  those  astute  coun 
selors  of  the  public  who  are  half-revered  and  half- 
despised  by  their  associates  on  the  news  side  of  every 
American  newspaper — wrote  uneasily  under  a  mys 
terious,  hidden  censorship.  It  was  possible  that  even 
the  young  woman  who  gleaned  society  news  might, 
by  some  unfortunate  slip,  offend  the  invisible  pro 
prietor.  But  as  time  passed  nothing  happened.  The 
imaginable  opaque  pane  that  separated  the  owner 
from  the  desks  of  the  " Courier's"  reporters  and 
philosophers  had  disclosed  no  faintest  shadow. 
Occasionally  the  managing  editor  was  summoned 
below  by  the  general  manager,  but  the  subordin 
ates  in  the  news  department  were  unable,  even  by 
much  careful  study  of  their  subsequent  instructions, 
to  grasp  the  slightest  thread  that  might  lead  them 
to  the  concealed  hand  which  swayed  the  "  Courier's" 
destiny.  It  must  be  confessed  that  under  this  ghostly 
administration  the  paper  improved.  Every  man  did 
his  best,  and  the  circulation  statements  as  published 
monthly  indicated  a  widening  constituency.  Even 
the  Sunday  edition,  long  a  forbidding  and  depressing 
hodge-podge  of  ill-chosen  and  ill-digested  rubbish, 
began  to  show  order  and  intelligence. 

In  October  following  his  visit  to  Professor  Kelton, 
Harwood  was  sent  to  Fraserville,  the  seat  of  Fraser 
County,  to  write  a  sketch  of  the  Honorable  Morton 
Bassett,  in  a  series  then  adorning  the  Sunday  sup 
plement  under  the  title,  "Home  Life  of  Hoosier 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Statesmen. "  The  object  of  the  series  was  frankly 
to  aid  the  circulation  manager's  efforts  to  build  up 
subscription  lists  in  the  rural  districts,  and  personal 
sketches  of  local  celebrities  had  proved  potent  in 
this  endeavor.  Most  of  the  subjects  that  had  fallen 
to  Harwood's  lot  had  been  of  a  familiar  type  — 
country  lawyers  who  sat  in  the  legislature,  or  county 
chairmen,  or  judges  of  county  courts.  As  the  "Sun 
day  Courier"  eschewed  politics,  the  series  was  not 
restricted  to  Democrats  but  included  men  of  all 
faiths.  It  was  Harwood's  habit  to  spend  a  day  in 
the  towns  he  visited,  gathering  local  color  and  col 
lecting  anecdotal  matter. 

While  this  employment  cut  deeply  into  his  hours 
at  the  law  office,  he  reasoned  that  there  was  a  com 
pensating  advantage  in  the  knowledge  he  gained  on 
these  excursions  of  the  men  of  both  political  faiths. 

Before  the  train  stopped  at  Fraserville  he  saw  from 
the  car  window  the  name  "Bassett"  written  large 
on  a  towering  elevator,  —  a  fact  which  he  noted  care 
fully  as  offering  a  suggestion  for  the  introductory 
line  of  his  sketch.  As  he  left  the  station  and  struck 
off  toward  the  heart  of  the  town,  he  was  aware 
that  Bassett  was  a  name  that  appealed  to  the  eye 
frequently.  The  Bassett  Block  and  Bassett's  Bank 
spoke  not  merely  for  a  material  prosperity,  rare 
among  the  local  statesmen  he  had  described  in  the 
"Courier,"  but,  judging  from  the  prominence  of  the 
name  in  Fraserville  nomenclature,  he  assumed  that 
it  had  long  been  established  in  the  community. 
Harwood  had  not  previously  faced  a  second  gener 
ation  in  his  pursuit  of  Hoosier  celebrities,  and  he 

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HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  prospect  of  a  varia 
tion  on  the  threadbare  scenario  of  early  hardship, 
the  little  red  schoolhouse,  patient  industry,  and  the 
laborious  attainment  of  meagre  political  honors  — 
which  had  begun  to  bore  him. 

Harwood  sought  first  the  editor  of  the  "Eraser 
County  Democrat,"  who  was  also  the  "Courier's" 
Fraserville  correspondent.  Fraserville  boasted  two 
other  newspapers,  the  "Republican,"  which  offset 
the  "Democrat"  politically,  and  the  "News,"  an 
independent  afternoon  daily  whose  function  was  to 
encourage  strife  between  its  weekly  contemporaries 
and  boom  the  commercial  interests  of  the  town. 
The  editor  of  the  "Democrat"  was  an  extremely 
stout  person,  who  sprawled  at  ease  in  a  battered 
swivel  chair,  with  his  slippered  feet  thrown  across 
a  desk  littered  with  newspapers,  clippings,  letters, 
and  manuscript.  A  file  hook  was  suspended  on  the 
wall  over  his  shoulder,  and  on  this  it  was  his  habit 
to  impale,  by  a  remarkable  twist  of  body  and  arm, 
gems  for  his  hebdomadal  journal.  He  wrote  on  a 
pad  held  in  his  ample  lap,  the  paste  brush  was  within 
easy  reach,  and  once  planted  on  his  throne  the  edi 
tor  was  established  for  the  day.  Bound  volumes  of 
the  "Congressional  Record"  in  their  original  wrap 
pers  were  piled  in  a  corner.  A  consular  report,  folded 
in  half,  was  thrust  under  the  editor's  right  thigh, 
easily  accessible  in  ferocious  moments  when  he  in 
dulged  himself  in  the  felicity  of  slaughtering  the 
roaches  with  wrhich  the  place  swarmed.  He  gave 
Dan  a  limp  fat  hand,  and  cleared  a  chair  of  ex 
changes  with  one  foot,  which  he  thereupon  labor- 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

iously   restored   to  its   accustomed    place   on   the 
desk. 

"So  you're  from  the  'Courier'?  Well,  sir,  you 
may  tell  your  managing  editor  for  me  that  if  he 
does  n't  print  more  of  my  stuff  he  can  get  somebody 
else  on  the  job  here." 

Dan  soothed  Mr.  Pettit's  feelings  as  best  he  could ; 
he  confessed  that  his  own  best  work  was  mercilessly 
cut;  and  that,  after  all,  the  editors  of  city  newspapers 
were  poor  judges  of  the  essential  character  of  news. 
When  Pettit's  good  humor  had  been  restored,  Dan 
broached  the  nature  of  his  errand.  As  he  mentioned 
Morton  Bassett's  name  the  huge  editor's  face  grew 
blank  for  a  moment;  then  he  was  shaken  with  mirth 
that  passed  from  faint  quivers  until  his  whole  frame 
was  convulsed .  His  rickety  chair  trembled  and  rattled 
ominously.  It  was  noiseless  laughter  so  far  as  any 
vocal  manifestations  were  concerned;  but  it  shook 
the  gigantic  editor  as  though  he  were  a  mould  of 
jelly.  He  closed  his  eyes,  but  otherwise  his  fat  face 
was  expressionless. 

"Coin'  to  write  Mort  up,  are  you?  Well,  by  gum! 
I've  been  readin'  those  pieces  in  the  'Courier/ 
Your  work?  Good  writin' ;  mighty  interestin'  readin' , 
as  old  Uncle  Horace  Greeley  used  to  say.  I  guess 
you  carry  the  whitewash  brush  along  with  you  in 
your  pilgrimages.  You  certainly  did  give  Bill  Rags- 
dale  a  clean  bill  o'  health.  That  must  have  tickled 
the  folks  in  Tecumseh  County.  Know  Ragsdale? 
I  've  set  with  Bill  in  the  lower  house  three  sessions, 
and  I  come  pretty  near  knowin'  him.  I  don't  say 
that  Bill  is  crooked;  but  I  suspect  that  if  Bill's 

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HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

moral  nature  could  be  dug  out  and  exposed  to  view 
it  would  be  spiral  like  a  bedspring;  just  about. 
It's  an  awful  load  on  the  Republican  Party  in  this 
state,  having  to  carry  Bill  Ragsdale.  O  Lord!" 

He  pursed  his  fat  lips,  and  his  eyes  took  on  a  far 
away  expression,  as  though  some  profound  utter 
ance  had  diverted  his  thoughts  to  remote  realms  of 
reverie.  "So  you  're  goin'  to  write  Mort  up;  well, 
my  God!" 

The  exact  relevance  of  this  was  not  apparent. 
Harwood  had  assumed  on  general  principles  that 
the  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit,  of  the  "  Fraser  County 
Democrat,"  was  an  humble  and  obedient  servant  of 
the  Honorable  Morton  Bassett,  and  would  cringe 
at  the  mention  of  his  name.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  Pettit 
had  said  nothing  to  disturb  this  belief;  but  neither 
had  the  editor  manifested  that  meek  submission 
for  which  the  reporter  had  been  prepared.  The  edi 
tor's  Gargantuan  girth  trembled  again.  The  spec 
tacle  he  presented  as  he  shook  thus  with  inexplicable 
mirth  was  so  funny  that  Harwood  grinned;  where 
upon  Pettit  rubbed  one  of  his  great  hands  across  his 
three-days'  growth  of  beard,  evoking  a  harsh  rasp 
ing  sound  in  which  he  seemed  to  find  relief  and  satis 
faction. 

"You  don't  know  Mort?  Well,  he's  all  right;  he 
will  be  mighty  nice  to  you.  Mort's  one  of  the  best 
fellows  on  earth;  you  won't  find  anybody  out  here 
in  Fraser  County  to  say  anything  against  Mort 
Bassett.  No,  sir;  by  God!" 

Again  the  ponderous  frame  shook;  again  the  mys 
terious  look  came  into  the  man's  curious  small  eyes, 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  Harwood  witnessed  another  seismic  disturbance 
in  the  bulk  before  him;  then  the  Honorable  Isaac 
Pettit  grew  serious. 

"You  want  some  facts  for  a  starter.  Well,  I  guess 
a  few  facts  don't  hurt  in  this  business,  providin' 
you  don't  push  in  too  many  of  'em." 

He  pondered  for  a  moment,  then  went  on,  as 
though  summarizing  from  a  biography:  — 

"Only  child  of  the  late  Jeremiah  Bassett,  founder 
of  Bassett's  Bank.  Old  Jerry  was  pure  boiler  plate; 
he  could  squeeze  ten  per  cent  interest  out  of  a  frozen 
parsnip.  He  and  Blackford  Singleton  sort  o'  di 
vided  things  up  in  this  section.  Jerry  Bassett  cor 
ralled  the  coin;  Blackford  rolled  up  a  couple  of  hun 
dred  thousand  and  capped  it  with  a  United  States 
senatorship.  Mort's  not  forty  yet;  married  only 
child  of  Blackford  F.  Singleton  —  Jerry  made  the 
match,  I  guess;  it  was  the  only  way  he  could  get 
Blackford's  money.  Mort  prepared  for  college,  but 
did  n't  go.  Took  his  degree  in  law  at  Columbia,  but 
never  practiced.  Always  interested  in  politics;  been 
in  the  state  senate  twelve  years;  two  children, 
boy  and  girl.  I  guess  Mort  Bassett  can  do  most 
anything  he  wants  to  —  you  can't  tell  where  he'll 
land." 

"But  the  next  steps  are  obvious,"  suggested 
Harwood,  encouragingly  —  "the  governorship,  the 
United  States  Senate  —  ever  onward  and  upward." 

"Well,  yes;  but  you  never  know  anything  from 
him.  We  don't  know,  and  you  might  think  we'd 
understand  him  pretty  well  up  here.  He  declined 
to  go  to  Congress  from  this  district  —  could  have 

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HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

had  it  without  turning  a  hand;  but  he  put  in  his 
man  and  stayed  in  the  state  senate.  I  reckon  he 
cuts  some  ice  there,  but  he's  mighty  quiet.  Bassett 
does  n't  beat  the  tom-tom  to  call  attention  to  him 
self.  I  guess  no  man  swings  more  influence  in  a  state 
convention  —  but  he's  peculiar.  You'll  find  him 
different  from  these  yahoos  you  've  been  writin'  up. 
I  know  'em  all." 

"A  man  of  influence  and  power  —  leading  citi 
zen  in  every  sense  —  "  Dan  murmured  as  he  scribbled 
a  few  notes. 

"Yep.  Mort's  considered  rich.  You  may  have 
noticed  his  name  printed  on  most  everything  but 
the  undertaker's  and  the  jail  as  you  came  up  from 
the  station.  The  elevator  and  the  bank  he  inherited 
from  his  pap.  Mort's  got  a  finger  in  most  every 
thing  'round  here." 

"Owns  everything,"  said  Harwood,  with  an  at 
tempt  at  facetiousness,  "except  the  brewery." 

Mr.  Pettit's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  then  closed; 
again  he  was  mirth-shaken;  it  seemed  that  the  idea 
of  linking  Morton  Bassett's  name  with  the  manu 
facture  of  malt  liquor  was  the  most  stupendous  joke 
possible.  The  editor's  face  did  not  change  expres 
sion;  the  internal  disturbances  were  not  more  vio 
lent  this  time,  but  they  continued  longer;  when  the 
strange  spasm  had  passed  he  dug  a  fat  fist  into  a  tear 
ful  right  eye  and  was  calm. 

"Oh,  my  God,"  he  blurted  huskily.  "Breweries? 
Let  us  say  that  he  neither  makes  nor  consumes  malt, 
vinous  nor  spirituous  liquor,  within  the  meaning  of 
the  statutes  in  such  cases  made  and  provided.  He 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  Ed  Thatcher  make  a  strong  team.  Ed  started 
out  as  a  brewer,  but  there's  nothing  wrong  about 
that,  I  reckon.  Over  in  England  they  make  lords 
and  dukes  of  brewers." 

"  A  man  of  rectitude  —  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of 
his  fellow-citizens,  —  popular  and  all  that?"  sug 
gested  Harwood. 

"Yes.  Mort  rather  retains  his  heat,  I  guess.  Some 
say  he's  cold  as  ice.  His  ice  is  the  kind  that  freezes 
to  what  he  likes.  Mort 's  a  gentleman  if  we  have  one 
in  Fraser  County.  If  you  think  you're  chasin'  one 
of  these  blue  jeans  politicians  you  read  about  in 
comic  papers  you're  hitting  the  wrong  trail,  son. 
Mort  can  eat  with  a  fork  without  appearin'  self- 
conscious.  Good  Lord,  boy,  if  you  can  say  these 
other  fellows  in  Indiana  politics  have  brains,  you 
got  to  say  that  Mort  Bassett  has  intellect.  Which  is 
different,  son;  a  dern  sight  different." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  use  the  word  in  my  sketch  of 
Mr.  Bassett,"  remarked  Dan  dryly.  "It  will  lend 
variety  to  the  series." 

Harwood  thanked  the  editor  for  his  courtesy  and 
walked  to  the  door.  Strange  creakings  from  the 
editorial  chair  caused  him  to  turn.  The  Honorable 
Isaac  Pettit  was  in  the  throes  of  another  convulsion. 
The  attack  seemed  more  severe  than  its  predecessors. 
Dan  waited  for  him  to  invoke  deity  with  the  asthma 
tic  wheeziness  to  which  mirth  reduced  his  vocal  ap 
paratus. 

"It's  nothin',  son;  it's  nothin'.  It's  my  tempera 
ment:  I  can't  help  it.  Did  you  say  you  were  from 
the  'Courier'?  Well,  you  better  give  Mort  a  good 

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HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

send-off.  He  appreciates  a  good  job;  he's  a  sort  o' 
literary  cuss  himself." 

As  another  mirthful  spasm  seemed  imminent 
Dan  retired,  wondering  just  what  in  himself  or  in  his 
errand  had  so  moved  the  fat  editor's  risibilities.  He 
learned  at  the  Bassett  Bank  that  Mr.  Bassett  was 
spending  the  day  in  a  neighboring  town,  but  would 
be  home  at  six  o'clock,  so  he  surveyed  Fraserville 
and  killed  time  until  evening,  eating  luncheon  and 
supper  with  sundry  commercial  travelers  at  the 
Grand  Hotel. 

Harwood's  instructions  were  in  every  case  to  take 
the  subjects  of  his  sketches  at  their  own  valuation 
and  to  set  them  forth  sympathetically.  The  ambi 
tions  of  most  of  the  gentlemen  he  had  interviewed 
had  been  obvious — obvious  and  futile.  Nearly  every 
man  who  reached  the  legislature  felt  a  higher  call 
to  Congress  or  the  governor's  chair.  Harwood  had 
already  described  in  the  "Courier"  the  attainments 
of  several  statesmen  who  were  willing  to  sacrifice 
their  private  interests  for  the  high  seat  at  the  state 
capitol.  The  pettiness  and  sordidness  of  most  of  the 
politicians  he  met  struck  him  humorously,  but  the 
tone  of  his  articles  was  uniformly  laudatory. 

When  the  iron  gate  clicked  behind  him  at  the  Bas 
sett  residence,  his  notebook  was  still  barren  of  such 
anecdotes  of  his  subject  as  he  had  usually  gathered 
in  like  cases  in  an  afternoon  spent  at  the  court 
house.  Stories  of  generosity,  of  the  kindly  care  of 
widows  and  orphans,  gifts  to  indigent  pastors,  boys 
helped  through  college,  and  similar  benefactions  had 
proved  altogether  elusive.  Either  Harwood  had 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

sought  in  the  wrong  places  or  Morton  Bassett  was 
of  tougher  fibre  than  the  other  gentlemen  on  whom 
his  pencil  had  conferred  immortality.  In  response 
to  his  ring  a  boy  opened  the  door  and  admitted  him 
without  parley.  He  had  a  card  ready  to  offer,  but 
the  lad  ran  to  announce  him  without  waiting  for  his 
name  and  reappeared  promptly. 

"Papa  says  to  come  right  in,  sir,"  the  boy  re 
ported. 

Dan  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  girl  at  the  piano  in  the 
parlor  who  turned  to  glance  at  him  and  continued 
her  playing.  The  lad  indicated  an  open  door  midway 
of  the  long  hall  and  waited  for  Harwood  to  enter.  A 
lady,  carrying  a  small  workbasket  in  her  hand,  bade 
the  reporter  good-evening  as  she  passed  out.  On  a 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  a  checkerboard's 
white  and  black  belligerents  stood  at  truce,  and  from 
the  interrupted  game  rose  a  thick-set  man  of  me 
dium  height,  with  dark  hair  and  a  close-trimmed 
mustache,  who  came  toward  him  inquiringly. 

"Good-evening.  I  am  Mr.  Bassett.  Have  a  chair." 

Harwood  felt  the  guilt  of  his  intrusion  upon  a 
scene  so  sheltered  and  domestic.  The  father  had 
evidently  been  playing  checkers  with  his  son;  the 
mother's  chair  still  rocked  by  another  table  on  which 
stood  a  reading  lamp. 

Harwood  stated  his  errand,  and  Bassett  merely 
nodded,  offering  none  of  those  protestations  of  sur 
prise  and  humility,  those  pleas  of  unworthiness  that 
his  predecessors  on  Dan's  list  had  usually  insisted 
upon.  Dan  made  mental  note  at  once  of  the  figure 
before  him.  Bassett's  jaw  was  square  and  firm  — 

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HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSlER  STATESMEN 

power  was  manifest  there,  unmistakably,  and  his 
bristling  mustache  suggested  combativeness.  His 
dark  eyes  met  Harwood's  gaze  steadily  —  hardness 
might  be  there,  though  their  gaze  was  friendly  enough. 
His  voice  was  deep  and  its  tone  was  pleasant.  He 
opened  a  drawer  and  produced  a  box  of  cigars. 

"Won't  you  smoke?  I  don't  smoke  myself,  but 
you  must  n't  mind  that."  And  Harwood  accepted 
a  cigar,  which  he  found  excellent.  A  moment  later 
a  maid  placed  on  the  table  beside  the  checker 
board  a  tray,  with  a  decanter  and  glasses,  and  a 
pitcher  of  water. 

"That's  for  us,"  remarked  Bassett,  nodding  to 
ward  the  glasses.  "Help  yourself." 

"The  cigar  is  all  I  need;  thank  you." 

The  reporter  was  prepared  to  ask  questions,  fol 
lowing  a  routine  he  had  employed  with  other  sub 
jects,  but  Bassett  began  to  talk  on  his  own  initiative 
-  of  the  town,  the  county,  the  district.  He  ex 
pressed  himself  well,  in  terse  words  and  phrases. 
Harwood  did  not  attempt  to  direct  or  lead:  Bas 
sett  had  taken  the  interview  into  his  own  hands, 
and  was  imparting  information  that  might  have 
been  derived  from  a  local  history  at  the  town  library. 
Dan  ceased,  after  a  time,  to  follow  the  narrative  in 
his  absorption  in  the  man  himself.  Harwood  took 
his  politics  seriously  and  the  petty  politicians  with 
whom  he  had  thus  far  become  acquainted  in  his 
newspaper  work  had  impressed  him  chiefly  by  their 
bigotry  or  venality.  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  he 
had  worshiped  at  Sumner's  feet  at  Yale  and  he  held 
views  that  were  not  readily  reconcilable  with  paro- 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

chial  boss-ships  and  the  meek  swallowing  of  machine- 
made  platforms.  Bassett  was  not  the  vulgar,  inti 
mate  good-fellow  who  slapped  every  man  on  the 
back  —  the  teller  of  good  stories  over  a  glass  of 
whiskey  and  a  cigar.  He  was,  as  Pettit  had  said,  a 
new  type,  not  of  the  familiar  cliche.  The  decanter 
was  a  " property"  placed  in  the  scene  at  the  dictates 
of  hospitality;  the  checkerboard  canceled  any  sug 
gestion  of  conviviality  that  might  have  been  con 
veyed  by  the  decanter  of  whiskey. 

Bassett's  right  hand  lay  on  the  table  and  Dan 
found  himself  watching  it.  It  was  broad  but  not 
heavy;  the  fingers  that  opened  and  shut  quietly  on  a 
small  paperweight  were  supple.  It  was  a  hand  that 
would  deal  few  blows,  but  hard  ones.  Harwood  was 
aware,  at  a  moment  when  he  began  to  be  bored  by 
the  bald  facts  of  local  history,  that  Bassett  had 
abruptly  switched  the  subject. 

"  Parties  are  necessary  to  democratic  government. 
I  don't  believe  merely  in  my  own  party;  I  want  the 
opposition  to  be  strong  enough  to  make  a  fight.  The 
people  are  better  satisfied  if  there 's  a  contest  for  the 
offices.  I'm  not  sorry  when  we  lose  occasionally; 
defeat  disciplines  and  strengthens  a  party.  I  have 
made  a  point  in  our  little  local  affairs  of  not  fighting 
independents  when  they  break  with  us  for  any  rea 
son.  Believing  as  I  do  that  parties  are  essential,  and 
that  schismatic  movements  are  futile,  I  make  a  point 
of  not  attacking  them.  Their  failures  strengthen  the 
party  —  and  incidentally  kill  the  men  who  have 
kicked  out  of  the  traces.  You  never  have  to  bother 
with  them  a  second  time." 

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HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

"But  they  help  clear  the  air  —  they  serve  a  pur 
pose?"  suggested  Harwood.  He  had  acquired  a 
taste  for  the  "  Nation  "  and  the  New  York  "  Evening 
Post"  at  college,  and  Bassett's  frank  statement  of 
his  political  opinions  struck  Dan  as  mediaeval.  He 
was,  however,  instinctively  a  reporter,  and  he 
refrained  from  interposing  himself  further  than  was 
necessary  to  stimulate  the  talk  of  the  man  before 
him. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Harwood.  They  serve 
an  excellent  purpose.  They  provide  an  outlet;  they 
serve  as  a  safety  valve.  Now  and  then  they  will  win 
a  fight,  and  that's  a  good  thing  too,  for  they  will 
prove,  on  experiment,  that  they  are  just  as  human 
and  weak  in  practical  application  of  their  ideas  as 
the  rest  of  us.  I  'd  even  go  as  far  as  to  say  that  in 
certain  circumstances  I  'd  let  them  win.  They  help 
drive  home  my  idea  that  the  old  parties,  like  old, 
established  business  houses,  have  got  to  maintain  a 
standard  or  they  will  lose  the  business  to  which  they 
are  rightfully  entitled.  When  you  see  your  custom 
ers  passing  your  front  door  to  try  a  new  shop  farther 
up  the  street,  you  want  to  sit  down  and  consider 
what's  the  matter,  and  devise  means  of  regaining 
your  lost  ground.  It  does  n't  pay  merely  to  ridicule 
the  new  man  or  cry  that  his  goods  are  inferior.  Yours 
have  got  to  be  superior  —  or"  —  and  the  gray  eyes 
twinkled  for  the  first  time  —  "they  must  be  dressed 
up  to  look  better  in  your  show  window." 

Bassett  rose  and  walked  the  length  of  the  room, 
with  his  hands  thrust  into  his  trousers  pockets,  and 
before  he  sat  down  he  poured  himself  a  glass  of 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

water  from  the  pitcher  and  drank  it  slowly,  with  an 
air  of  preoccupation.  He  moved  easily,  with  a 
quicker  step  than  might  have  been  expected  in  one 
of  his  figure.  The  strength  of  his  hand  was  also  in 
the  firm  line  of  his  vigorous,  well-knit  frame.  And 
his  rather  large  head,  Dan  observed,  rested  solidly 
on  broad  shoulders. 

Harwood's  thoughts  were,  however,  given  another 
turn  at  once.  Morton  Bassett  had  said  allhe  cared 
to  say  about  politics  and  he  now  asked  Dan  whether 
he  was  a  college  man,  to  which  prompting  the  re 
porter  recited  succinctly  the  annals  of  his  life. 

"You're  a  Harrison  County  boy,  are  you?  So 
you  did  n't  like  the  farm,  and  found  a  way  out? 
That's  good.  You  may  be  interested  in  some  of  my 
books." 

Dan  was  immediately  on  guard  against  being 
bored ;  the  library  of  even  an  intelligent  local  states 
man  like  Morton  Bassett  was  hardly  likely  to  prove 
interesting.  One  of  his  earlier  subjects  had  asked 
him  particularly  to  mention  his  library,  which  con 
sisted  mainly  of  government  reports. 

"I've  been  a  collector  of  Americana,"  Bassett 
remarked,  throwing  open  several  cases.  "I've  gone 
in  for  colonial  history,  particularly,  and  some  of 
these  things  are  pretty  rare." 

The  shelves  rose  to  the  ceiling  and  Bassett  pro 
duced  a  ladder  that  he  might  hand  down  a  few  of  the 
more  interesting  volumes  for  Dan's  closer  inspection. 

11  Here's  Wainwright's  'Brief  Description  of  the 
Ohio  River,  With  some  Account  of  the  Savages 
Living  Thereon'  —  published  in  London  in  1732, 

(104) 


HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

and  there  are  only  three  copies  in  existence.  This  is 
Atterbury's  'Chronicle  of  the  Chesapeake  Settle 
ments'  -  -  the  best  thing  I  have.  The  author  was  an 
English  sailor  who  joined  the  colonists  in  the  Revo 
lution  and  published  a  little  memoir  of  his  adventures 
in  America.  The  only  other  copy  of  that  known  to 
exist  is  in  the  British  Museum.  I  fished  mine  out  of 
a  pile  of  junk  in  Baltimore  about  ten  years  ago. 
When  I  get  old  and  have  time  on  my  hands  I'm 
going  to  reprint  some  of  these  —  wide  margins,  and 
footnotes,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  there's  fun 
enough  now  in  just  having  them  and  knowing  the 
other  fellow  hasn't!" 

He  flung  open  a  panel  of  the  wainscoting  at  a  point 
still  free  of  shelves  and  disclosed  a  door  of  a  small 
iron  safe  which  he  opened  with  a  key. 

"This  isn't  the  family  silver,  but  a  few  little 
things  that  are  more  valuable.  These  are  first  edi 
tions  of  American  authors.  Here's  Lowell's  'Fable 
for  Critics,'  first  edition;  and  this  is  Emerson's 
'Nature,'  1836  —  a  first.  These  are  bound  by  Orp- 
cutt;  had  them  done  myself.  They  feel  good  to  the 
hand,  don't  they!" 

Harwood's  pleasure  in  the  beautiful  specimens  of 
the  binder's  art  was  unfeigned  and  to  his  question 
ing  Bassett  dilated  upon  the  craftsmanship. 

"The  red  morocco  of  the  Emerson  takes  the  gold 
tooling  beautifully,  and  the  oak-leaf  border  design 
could  n't  be  finer.  I  believe  this  olive-green  shade  is 
the  best  of  all.  This  Whittier  —  a  first  edition  of 
'In  War  Time'  —  is  by  Durand,  a  French  artist, 
and  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  his  work." 

(105) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Those  strong  hands  of  his  touched  the  beautiful 
books  fondly.  Harwood  took  advantage  of  a  mo 
ment  when  Bassett  carried  to  the  lamp  Lowell's 
"Under  the  Willows"  in  gold  and  brown,  the  better 
to  display  the  deft  workmanship,  to  look  more 
closely  at  the  owner  of  these  lovely  baubles.  The 
iron  hand  could  be  very  gentle!  Bassett  touched 
the  volume  caressingly  as  he  called  attention  to  its 
perfection.  His  face,  in  the  lamp's  full  light,  soft 
ened,  but  there  was  in  it  no  hint  of  sensuousness  to 
prepare  one  for  this  indulgence  in  luxurious  biblio 
mania.  There  was  a  childlike  simplicity  in  Bassett's 
delight.  A  man  who  enjoyed  such  playthings  could 
not  be  hard,  and  Dan's  heart  warmed  with  liking. 

"Are  you  a  reader  of  poetry?"  asked  Dan,  as 
Bassett  carefully  collected  the  books  and  returned 
them  to  the  safe. 

"No.  That  is  something  we  leave  behind  us  with 
our  youth,"  he  said;  and  looking  down  at  the  bent 
head  and  sturdy  shoulders,  and  watching  the  strong 
fingers  turning  the  key,  Dan  wondered  what  the 
man's  youth  had  been  and  what  elements  were  mixed 
in  him  that  soft  textures  of  leather  and  delicate  trac 
ings  of  gold  on  brown  and  scarlet  and  olive  could  so 
delight  him.  His  rather  jaunty  attitude  toward  the 
"Home  Life  of  Hoosier  Statesmen"  experienced  a 
change.  Morton  Bassett  was  not  a  man  who  could 
be  hit  off  in  a  few  hundred  words,  but  a  complex 
character  he  did  not  pretend  to  understand.  Threads 
of  various  hues  had  passed  before  him,  but  how  to 
intertwine  them  was  a  question  that  already  puz 
zled  the  reporter.  Bassett  had  rested  his  hand  on 

(106) 


HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

Dan's  shoulder  for  a  moment  as  the  younger  man 
bent  over  one  of  the  prized  volumes,  and  Dan  was 
not  insensible  to  the  friendliness  of  the  act. 

Mrs.  Bassett  and  the  two  children  appeared  at 
the  door  a  little  later. 

"Come  in,  Hallie,"  said  the  politician;  "all  of  you 


come  in." 


He  introduced  the  reporter  to  his  wife  and  to 
Marian,  the  daughter,  and  Blackford,  the  son. 

"The  children  were  just  going  up,"  said  Mrs. 
Bassett.  "  As  it 's  Saturday  they  have  an  hour  added 
to  their  evening.  I  think  I  heard  Mr.  Bassett  talk 
ing  of  books  a  moment  ago.  It's  not  often  he  brings 
out  his  first  editions  for  a  visitor." 

They  talked  of  books  for  a  moment,  while  the 
children  listened.  Then  Bassett  recurred  to  the  fact, 
already  elicited,  that  Harwood  was  a  Yale  man, 
whereupon  colleges  were  discussed. 

11  Many  of  our  small  fresh-water  colleges  do  excel 
lent  work,"  remarked  Bassett.  "Some  educator  has 
explained  the  difference  between  large  and  small 
colleges  by  saying  that  in  the  large  one  the  boy  goes 
through  more  college,  but  in  the  small  one  more 
college  goes  through  the  boy.  Of  course  I  'm  not 
implying,  Mr.  Harwood,  that  that  was  true  in  your 


case." 


"Oh,  I'm  not  sensitive  about  that,  Mr.  Bassett. 
And  I  beg  not  to  be  taken  as  an  example  of  what 
Yale  does  for  her  students.  Some  of  the  smaller 
colleges  stand  for  the  best  things;  there's  Madison 
College,  here  in  our  own  state  —  its  standards  are 
severely  high,  and  the  place  itself  has  quality, 

(107) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

atmosphere  —  you  feel,  even  as  a  casual  visitor, 
that  it 's  the  real  thing." 

"So  I've  always  heard,"  remarked  Mrs.  Bassett. 
"My  father  always  admired  Madison.  Strange  to 
say,  I  have  never  been  there.  Are  you  acquainted 
in  Montgomery?" 

Bassett  bent  forward  slightly  at  the  question. 

"I  was  there  for  an  hour  or  so  last  spring;  but  I 
was  in  a  hurry.  I  did  n't  even  take  time  to  run  into 
my  fraternity  house,  though  I  saw  its  banner  on  the 
outer  wall." 

"  Your  newspaper  work  must  give  you  many  inter 
esting  adventures,"  suggested  the  politician. 

"Not  always  as  pleasant  as  this,  I  assure  you. 
But  I'm  a  person  of  two  occupations  —  I'm  study 
ing  law,  and  my  visit  to  Montgomery  was  on  an 
errand  for  the  office  where  I  'm  allowed  to  use  the 
books  in  return  for  slight  services  of  one  kind  and 
another.  As  a  newspaper  man  I  'm  something  of  an 
impostor;  I  hope  I'm  only  a  passing  pilgrim  in  the 
business." 

Dan  faced  Mrs.  Bassett  as  he  made  this  explana 
tion,  and  he  was  conscious,  as  he  turned  toward  the 
master  of  the  house,  that  Bassett  was  observing  him 
intently.  His  gaze  was  so  direct  and  searching  that 
Harwood  was  disconcerted  for  a  moment;  then  Bas 
sett  remarked  carelessly,  — 

"I  should  think  newspaper  work  a  good  training 
for  the  law.  It  drills  faculties  that  a  lawyer  exercises 
constantly." 

Mrs.  Bassett  now  made  it  possible  for  Marian  and 
young  Blackford  to  contribute  to  the  conversation. 

(108) 


HOME  LIFE  OF  HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

"I'm  going  to  Annapolis,"  announced  the  boy. 

"You've  had  a  change  of  heart,"  said  his  father, 
with  a  smile.  "  It  was  West  Point  last  week." 

"Well,  it  will  be  Annapolis  next  week,"  the  lad 
declared;  and  then,  as  if  to  explain  his  abandon 
ment  of  a  military  career,  "  In  the  Navy  you  get  to 
see  the  world,  and  in  the  Army  you're  likely  to  be 
stuck  away  at  some  awful  place  on  the  Plains  where 
you  never  see  anything.  The  Indians  are  nearly 
all  killed  anyhow." 

"We  hear  a  good  deal  nowadays  about  the  higher 
education  of  woman,"  Mrs.  Bassett  remarked,  "and 
I  suppose  girls  should  be  prepared  to  earn  their 
own  living.  Mothers  of  daughters  have  that  to  think 
about." 

Miss  Marian,  catching  Dan's  eye,  smiled  as 
though  to  express  her  full  appreciation  of  the  humor 
of  her  mother's  remark. 

"Mama  learned  that  from  my  Aunt  Sally,"  she 
ventured ;  and  Dan  saw  that  she  was  an  independent 
spirit,  given  to  daring  sayings,  and  indulged  in  them 
by  her  parents. 

"Well,  Aunt  Sally  is  the  wisest  woman  in  the 
world,"  replied  Mrs.  Bassett,  with  emphasis.  "It 
would  be  to  your  credit  if  you  followed  her,  my 
dear." 

Marian  ignored  her  mother's  rebuke  and  ad 
dressed  herself  to  the  visitor. 

"Aunt  Sally  lives  in  Indianapolis  and  I  go  there 
to  Miss  Waring's  School.  I  'm  just  home  forSunday." 

"Mrs.  Owen  is  my  aunt;  you  may  have  heard  of 
her,  Mr.  Harwood;  she  was  my  father's  only  sister." 

(109) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Oh,  the  Mrs.  Owen!  Of  course  every  one  has 
heard  of  her;  and  I  knew  that  she  was  Senator 
Singleton's  sister.  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  don't  know 
her." 

Unconsciously  the  sense  of  Morton  Bassett's 
importance  deepened.  In  marrying  Mrs.  Jackson 
Owen's  niece  Bassett  had  linked  himself  to  the  rich 
est  woman  at  the  state  capital.  He  had  not  encum 
bered  himself  with  a  crude  wife  from  the  country 
side,  but  had  married  a  woman  with  important  con 
nections.  Blackford  Singleton  had  been  one  of  the 
leading  men  of  the  state,  and  Mrs.  Owen,  his  sister, 
was  not  a  negligible  figure  in  the  background  against 
which  the  reporter  saw  he  must  sketch  the  Fraser- 
ville  senator.  Harwood  had  met  the  wives  of  other 
Hoosier  statesmen  —  uninteresting  creatures  in  the 
main,  and  palpably  of  little  assistance  to  ambitious 
husbands. 

It  appeared  that  the  Bassetts  spent  their  summers 
at  their  cottage  on  Lake  Waupegan  and  that  Mrs. 
Owen  had  a  farm  near  them.  It  was  clear  that  Bas 
sett  enjoyed  his  family.  He  fell  into  a  chaffing  way 
with  his  children  and  laughed  heartily  at  Marian's 
forwardness.  He  met  his  son  on  the  lad's  own  note 
of  self-importance  and  connived  with  him  to  pro 
voke  her  amusing  impertinences. 

Bassett  imposed  no  restrictions  upon  Harwood 's 
pencil,  and  this,  too,  was  a  novel  experience.  His 
predecessors  on  the  list  of  leaders  in  Hoosier  poli 
tics  had  not  been  backward  about  making  sugges 
tions,  but  Bassett  did  not  refer  to  Harwood 's  errand 
at  all.  When  Dan  asked  for  photographs  of  Mrs.  Bas- 

(110) 


HOME  LIFE  OF   HOOSIER  STATESMEN 

sett  and  the  children  with  which  to  embellish  his 
article,  Bassett  declined  to  give  them  with  a  firm 
ness  that  ended  the  matter;  but  he  promised  to 
provide  photographs  of  the  house  and  grounds  and 
of  the  Waupegan  cottage  and  send  them  to  Harwood 
in  a  day  or  two. 

Harwood  gave  to  his  sketch  of  Morton  Bassett  a 
care  which  he  had  not  bestowed  upon  any  of  his 
previous  contributions  to  the  "Courier's"  series  of 
Hoosier  statesmen.  He  remained  away  from  the 
law  office  two  days  the  better  to  concentrate  him 
self  upon  his  task,  and  the  result  was  a  careful, 
straightforward  article,  into  which  he  threw  shadings 
of  analysis  and  flashes  of  color  that  reflected  very 
faithfully  the  impression  made  upon  his  mind  by 
the  senator  from  Fraser.  The  managing  editor  com 
plained  of  its  sobriety  and  lack  of  anecdote. 

"  It's  good,  Harwood,  but  it's  too  damned  solemn. 
Can't  you  shoot  a  little  ginger  into  it?" 

"I've  tried  to  paint  the  real  Bassett.  He  isn't 
one  of  these  raw  hayseeds  who  hands  you  chestnuts 
out  of  patent  medicine  almanacs.  I  've  tried  to  make 
a  document  that  would  tell  the  truth  and  at  the 
same  time  please  him." 

"Why?"  snapped  the  editor,  pulling  the  green 
shade  away  from  his  eyes  and  glaring  at  the  reporter. 

11  Because  he's  the  sort  of  man  you  feel  you'd  like 
to  please!  He's  the  only  one  of  these  fellows  I've 
tackled  who  did  n't  tell  me  a  lot  of  highfalutin  rot 
they  wanted  put  into  the  article.  Bassett  did  n't 
seem  to  care  about  it  one  way  or  another.  I  rewrote 

(in) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

most  of  that  stuff  half  a  dozen  times  to  be  sure  to 
get  the  punk  out  of  it,  because  I  knew  he  hated 
punk." 

"You  did,  did  you!  Well,  McNaughton  of  Tippe- 
canoe  County  is  the  next  standard-bearer  you  're  to 
tackle,  and  you  need  n't  be  afraid  to  pin  ribbons  on 
him.  You  college  fellows  are  all  alike.  Try  to  re 
member,  Harwood,  that  this  paper  ain't  the  'North 
American  Review';  it's  a  newspaper  for  the  plain 
people." 

Dan,  at  some  personal  risk,  saw  to  it  that  the 
illustrations  were  so  minimized  that  it  became  un 
necessary  to  sacrifice  his  text  to  accommodate  it  to 
the  page  set  apart  for  it.  He  read  his  screed  in  type 
with  considerable  satisfaction,  feeling  that  it  was  an 
honest  piece  of  work  and  that  it  limned  a  portrait 
of  Bassett  that  was  vivid  and  truthful.  The  editor- 
in-chief  inquired  who  had  written  it,  and  took 
occasion  to  commend  Harwood  for  his  good  work 
manship.  A  little  later  a  clerk  in  the  counting-room 
told  him  that  Bassett  had  ordered  a  hundred  copies 
of  the  issue  containing  the  sketch,  and  this  was  con 
soling.  Several  other  subjects  had  written  their 
thanks,  and  Dan  had  rather  hoped  that  Bassett 
would  send  him  a  line  of  approval;  but  on  reflection 
he  concluded  that  it  was  not  like  Bassett  to  do  so, 
and  that  this  failure  to  make  any  sign  corroborated 
all  that  he  knew  or  imagined  of  the  senator  from 
Fraser. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

THE  snow  lay  late  the  next  year  on  the  Madi 
son  campus.  It  had  been  a  busy  winter  for 
Sylvia,  though  in  all  ways  a  happy  one. 
When  it  became  known  that  she  was  preparing  for 
college  all  the  Buckeye  Lane  folk  were  anxious  to  help. 
Professor  Kelton  would  not  trust  his  own  powers  too 
far  and  he  availed  himself  of  the  offers  of  members 
of  the  faculty  to  tutor  Sylvia  in  their  several  branches. 
Buckeye  Lane  was  proud  of  Sylvia  and  glad  that 
the  old  professor  found  college  possible  for  her. 
Happiness  reigned  in  the  cottage,  and  days  were  not 
so  cold  or  snows  so  deep  but  that  Sylvia  and  her 
grandfather  went  forth  for  their  afternoon  tramp. 
There  was  nothing  morbid  or  anaemic  about  Sylvia. 
Every  morning  she  pulled  weights  and  swung  In 
dian  clubs  with  her  windows  open.  A  mischievous 
freshman  who  had  thrown  a  snowball  at  Sylvia's 
heels,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  her  jump,  regretted  his 
bad  manners:  Sylvia  caught  him  in  the  ear  with  an 
unexpected  return  shot.  A  senior  who  observed  the 
incident  dealt  in  the  lordly  way  of  his  kind  with 
the  offender.  They  called  her  ' '  our  co-ed ' '  and  ' '  the 
boss  girl"  after  that.  The  professor  of  mathematics 
occasionally  left  on  his  blackboard  Sylvia's  demon 
strations  and  pointed  them  out  to  his  class  as  models 
worthy  of  their  emulation. 

(H3) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Spring  stole  into  the  heart  of  the  Wabash  country 
and  the  sap  sang  again  in  maples  and  elms.  Lilacs 
and  snowballs  bloomed,  and  Professor  Kelton  went 
serenely  about  among  his  roses.  Sylvia  passed  her 
examinations,  and  was  to  be  admitted  to  Wellesley 
without  conditions,  —  all  the  Lane  knew  and  re 
joiced!  The  good  news  was  communicated  to  Mrs. 
Owen,  who  wrote  at  once  to  Professor  Kelton  from 
the  summer  headquarters  she  had  established  on  her 
farm  in  northern  Indiana  that  just  then  required 
particular  attention.  It  ran:  — 

I  want  you  to  make  me  a  visit.  Sylvia  must  be 
pretty  tired  after  her  long,  busy  year  and  I  have 
been  tinkering  the  house  here  a  little  bit  so  you  can 
both  be  perfectly  comfortable.  It 's  not  so  lonely  as 
you  might  think,  as  my  farm  borders  Lake  Waupe- 
gan,  and  the  young  people  have  gay  times.  My  niece, 
Mrs.  Bassett,  has  a  cottage  on  the  lake  only  a 
minute's  walk  from  me.  I  should  like  Marian  and 
Sylvia  to  get  acquainted  and  this  will  be  easy  if  only 
you  will  come  up  for  a  couple  of  weeks.  There  are 
enough  old  folks  around  here,  Andrew,  to  keep  you 
and  me  in  countenance.  I  inclose  a  timetable  with 
the  best  trains  marked.  You  leave  the  train  at 
Waupegan  Station,  and  take  the  steamer  across  the 
lake.  I  will  meet  you  at  any  time  you  say. 

So  it  happened  that  on  a  June  evening  they  left 
the  train  at  Waupegan  and  crossed  the  platform  to 
the  wheezy  little  steamer  which  was  waiting  just 
as  the  timetable  had  predicted ;  and  soon  they  were 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

embarked  and  crossing  the  lake,  which  seemed  to 
Sylvia  a  vast  ocean.  Twilight  was  enfolding  the 
world,  and  all  manner  of  fairy  lights  began  to  twinkle 
at  the  far  edges  of  the  water  and  on  the  dark  heights 
above  the  lake.  Overhead  the  stars  were  slipping 
into  their  wonted  places. 

"You  can  get  an  idea  of  how  it  is  at  sea/'  said 
her  grandfather,  smiling  at  her  long  upward  gaze. 
"Only  you  can  hardly  feel  the  wonder  of  it  all  here, 
•or  the  great  loneliness  of  the  ocean  at  night." 

It  was,  however,  wonder  enough,  for  a  girl  who 
had  previously  looked  upon  no  more  impressive 
waters  than  those  of  Fall  Creek,  Sugar  Creek,  and 
White  River.  The  steamer,  with  much  sputtering 
and  churning  and  not  without  excessive  trepidation 
on  the  part  of  the  captain  and  his  lone  deck  hand, 
stopped  at  many  frail  docks  below  the  cottages  that 
hung  on  the  bluff  above.  Every  cottager  maintained 
his  own  light  or  combination  of  lights  to  facilitate 
identification  by  approaching  visitors.  They  passed 
a  number  of  sailboats  lazily  idling  in  the  light  wrind, 
and  several  small  power  boats  shot  past  with  engines 
beating  furiously  upon  the  still  waters. 

"The  Bassetts'  dock  is  the  green  light;  the  red, 
white,  and  blue  is  Mrs.  Owen's,"  explained  the  cap 
tain.  "  We  ain't  stoppin'  at  Bassett's  to-night." 

These  lights  marked  the  farthest  bounds  of  Lake 
AVaupegan,  and  were  the  last  points  touched  by  the 
boat.  Sylvia  watched  the  green  light  with  interest 
as  they  passed.  She  had  thought  of  Marian  often 
since  their  meeting  at  Mrs.  Owen's.  She  would 
doubtless  see  more  of  her  now:  the  green  light 

("5) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  the  red,  white  and  blue  were  very  close  to 
gether. 

Mrs.  Owen  called  to  them  cheerily  from  the  dock, 
and  waved  a  lantern  in  welcome.  She  began  talking 
to  her  guests  before  they  disembarked. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Andrew.  You  must  be  mighty 
hungry,  Sylvia.  Don't  smash  my  dock  to  pieces, 
Captain ;  it 's  only  wood." 

Mrs.  Owen  complained  after  a  few  days  that  she 
saw  nothing  of  Sylvia,  so  numerous  were  that  young 
person's  engagements.  Mrs.  Bassett  and  Marian 
called  promptly  —  the  former  a  trifle  dazed  by  Syl 
via's  sudden  advent,  and  Marian  genuinely  cordial. 
Mrs.  Bassett  had  heard  of  the  approaching  visit  with 
liveliest  interest.  A  year  before,  when  Marian  had 
reported  the  presence  in  Mrs.  Owen's  house  at  Indian 
apolis  of  a  strange  girl  with  Professor  Kelton,  her 
curiosity  had  been  piqued,  but  she  soon  dismissed  the 
matter.  Marian  had  carried  home  little  information, 
and  while  Mrs.  Bassett  saw  her  aunt  often  on  her  fre 
quent  excursions  to  the  city,  she  knew  by  long  expe 
rience  that  Mrs.  Owen  did  not  yield  gracefully  to 
prodding. 

Mrs.  Bassett  had  heard  all  her  life  of  Professor  Kel 
ton  and  she  had  met  him  now  and  then  in  the  Dela 
ware  Street  house,  but  her  knowledge  of  him  and  his 
family  was  only  the  most  fragmentary.  Nothing  had 
occurred  during  the  year  to  bring  the  Keltons  again 
to  her  attention;  but  now,  with  a  casualness  in  itself 
disconcerting,  they  had  arrived  at  Mrs.  Owen's 
farmhouse,  where,  Mrs.  Bassett  was  sure,  no  guests 
had  ever  been  entertained  before.  The  house  had 

(116) 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

just  been  remodeled  and  made  altogether  habitable, 
a  fact  which,  Mrs.  Bassett  had  been  flattering  her 
self,  argued  for  Mrs.  Owen's  increasing  interest  in 
herself  and  her  family.  The  immediate  arrival  of 
the  Keltons  was  disquieting. 

Through  most  of  her  life  Hallie  Bassett  had  as 
sumed  that  she  and  her  children,  as  Sally  Owen's 
next  of  kin,  quite  filled  the  heart  of  that  admirable 
though  often  inexplicable  woman.  Mrs.  Bassett 
had  herself  inherited  a  small  fortune  from  her  father, 
Blackford  F.  Singleton,  Mrs.  Owen's  brother,  a  judge 
of  the  Indiana  Supreme  Court  and  a  senator  in 
Congress,  whose  merits  and  services  are  set  forth 
in  a  tablet  at  the  portal  of  the  Fraser  County  Court- 
House.  The  Bassetts  and  the  Singletons  had  been 
early  settlers  of  that  region,  and  the  marriage  of 
Hallie  Singleton  to  Morton  Bassett  was  a  satisfactory 
incident  in  the  history  of  both  families.  Six  years  of 
Mrs.  Bassett's  girlhood  had  been  passed  in  Washing 
ton  ;  the  thought  of  power  and  influence  was  dear  to- 
her;  and  nothing  in  her  life  had  been  more  natural 
than  the  expectation  that  her  children  would  enjoy 
the  fortune  Mrs.  Owen  had  been  accumulating  so 
long  and,  from  all  accounts,  by  processes  hardly  less- 
than  magical.  Mrs.  Bassett's  humor  was  not  always 
equal  to  the  strain  to  which  her  aunt  subjected  it. 
Hallie  Bassett  had,  in  fact,  little  humor  of  any  sort. 
She  viewed  life  with  a  certain  austerity,  and  in  lit 
erature  she  had  fortified  herself  against  the  shocks  of 
time.  Conduct,  she  had  read,  is  three  fourths  of  life; 
and  Wordsworth  had  convinced  her  that  the  world 
is  too  much  with  us.  Mrs.  Bassett  discussed  no- 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

thing  so  ably  as  a  vague  something  she  was  fond  of 
characterizing  as  "the  full  life,"  and  this  she  wished 
to  secure  for  her  children.  Her  boy's  future  lay  pro 
perly  with  his  father;  she  had  no  wish  to  meddle 
with  it;  but  Marian  was  the  apple  of  her  eye,  and 
she  was  striving  by  all  the  means  in  her  power  to 
direct  her  daughter  into  pleasant  paths  and  bright 
meadows  where  the  "  full  life  "  is  assured.  Hers  were 
no  mean  standards.  She  meant  to  be  a  sympathetic 
and  helpful  wife,  the  wisest  and  most  conscientious 
of  mothers. 

Mrs.  Bassett  was  immensely  anxious  to  please  her 
aunt  in  all  ways;  but  that  intrepid  woman's  pleasure 
was  not  a  thing  to  be  counted  on  with  certainty. 
She  not  only  sought  to  please  her  aunt  by  every 
means  possible,  but  she  wished  her  children  to  in 
trench  themselves  strongly  in  their  great  aunt's 
favor.  The  reports  of  such  of  Mrs.  Owen's  public 
benefactions  as  occasionally  reached  the  newspapers 
were  always  alarming.  No  one  ever  knew  just  how 
much  money  Sally  Owen  gave  away;  but  some  of  her 
gifts  in  recent  years  had  been  too  large  to  pass  unno 
ticed  by  the  press.  Only  a  few  months  before  she  had 
established  a  working-girls'  home  in  memory  of  a 
daughter  —  her  only  child  —  who  had  died  in  early 
youth,  and  this  crash  from  a  clear  sky  had  aroused 
in  Mrs.  Bassett  the  gravest  apprehensions.  It  was 
just  so  much  money  —  said  to  be  eighty  thousand 
dollars  —  out  of  the  pockets  of  Marian  and  Black- 
ford;  and,  besides,  Mrs.  Bassett  held  views  on  this 
type  of  benevolence.  Homes  for  working-girls  might 
be  well  enough,  but  the  danger  of  spoiling  the.m  by  too 

(118) 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

much  indulgence  was  not  inconsiderable;  Mrs.  Bas- 
sett's  altruism  was  directed  to  the  moral  and  intel 
lectual  uplift  of  the  mass  (she  never  said  masses) 
and  was  not  concerned  with  the  plain  prose  of  hous 
ing,  feeding,  and  clothing  young  women  who  earned 
their  own  living.  Mrs.  Owen,  in  turning  over  this 
home  to  a  board  of  trustees,  had  stipulated  that 
music  for  dancing  should  be  provided  every  Satur 
day  evening;  whereupon  two  trustees,  on  whom  the 
Christian  religion  weighed  heavily,  resigned;  but 
Mrs.  Owen  did  not  care  particularly.  Trustees  were 
only  necessary  to  satisfy  the  law  and  to  assure  the 
legal  continuity  of  Elizabeth  House,  which  Mrs. 
Owen  directed  very  well  herself. 

Mrs.  Bassett  encouraged  Marian's  attentions  to 
Mrs.  Owen's  young  visitor;  but  it  must  be  said  that 
Marian,  on  her  own  account,  liked  Sylvia  and  found 
delight  in  initiating  her  into  the  mysteries  of  Waupe- 
gan  life.  She  taught  her  to  ride,  to  paddle  a  canoe, 
and  to  swim.  There  were  dances  at  the  casino,  and 
it  was  remarkable  how  easily  Sylvia  learned  to  dance. 
Marian  taught  her  a  few  steps  on  the  first  rainy  day 
at  the  Bassett  house;  and  thereafter  no  one  would 
have  doubted  that  Sylvia  had  been  to  dancing- 
school  with  the  boys  and  girls  she  met  at  the  casino 
parties.  Marian  was  the  most  popular  girl  in  the 
summer  colony  and  Sylvia  admired  her  ungrudg 
ingly.  In  all  outdoor  sports  Marian  excelled.  She 
dived  from  a  spring-board  like  a  boy;  she  paddled 
a  canoe  tirelessly  and  with  inimitable  grace;  and  it 
was  a  joy  to  see  her  at  the  tennis  court,  where  her 
nimbleness  of  foot  and  the  certainty  of  her  stroke 

(119) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

made  her  easily  first  in  all  competitions.  At  the 
casino,  after  a  hard  round  of  tennis,  and  while  wait 
ing  for  cakes  and  lemonade  to  be  served,  she  would 
hammer  ragtime  on  the  piano  or  sing  the  latest 
lyrical  offerings  of  Broadway.  Quiet,  elderly  gentle 
men  from  Cincinnati,  Louisville,  and  Indianapolis, 
who  went  to  the  casino  to  read  the  newspapers 
or  to  play  bridge,  grinned  when  Marian  turned  things 
upside  down.  If  any  one  else  had  improvised  a 
bowling-alley  of  ginger-ale  bottles  and  croquet- 
balls  on  the  veranda,  they  would  have  complained 
of  it  bitterly.  She  was  impatient  of  restraint,  and 
it  was  apparent  that  few  restraints  were  imposed 
upon  her.  Her  sophistication  in  certain  directions 
was  to  Sylvia  well-nigh  incomprehensible.  In  mat 
ters  of  personal  adornment,  for  example,  the  younger 
girl's  accomplishments  were  astonishing.  She  taught 
Sylvia  how  to  arrange  her  hair  in  the  latest  fashion 
promulgated  by  "  Vogue";  she  instructed  her  in  the 
refined  art  of  manicuring  according  to  the  method 
of  the  best  shop  in  Indianapolis;  and  it  was  amazing 
how  wonderfully  Marian  could  improve  a  hat  by 
the  slightest  readjustments  of  ribbon  and  feather. 
She  tested  the  world's  resources  like  a  spoiled  prin 
cess  with  an  indulgent  chancellor  to  pay  her  bills. 
She  gave  a  party  and  ordered  the  refreshments  from 
Chicago,  though  her  mother  protested  that  the 
domestic  apparatus  for  making  ice-cream  was  wholly 
adequate  for  the  occasion.  When  she  wanted  new 
tennis  shoes  she  telegraphed  for  them;  and  she  kept 
in  her  room  a  small  library  of  mail-order  catalogues 
to  facilitate  her  extravagances. 

(120) 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

Marian  talked  a  great  deal  about  boys,  and  con 
fided  to  Sylvia  her  sentimental  attachment  for  one 
of  the  lads  they  saw  from  day  to  day,  and  with  whom 
they  played  tennis  at  the  casino  court.  For  the  first 
time  Sylvia  heard  a  girl  talk  of  men  as  of  romantic 
beings,  and  of  love  as  a  part  of  the  joy  and  excite 
ment  of  life.  A  young  gentleman  in  a  Gibson  draw 
ing  which  she  had  torn  from  an  old  copy  of  "Life" 
more  nearly  approximated  Marian's  ideal  than  even 
the  actors  of  her  remote  adoration.  She  had  a  great 
number  of  gowns  and  was  quite  reckless  in  her  use 
of  them.  She  tried  to  confer  upon  Sylvia  scarf  pins, 
ties,  and  like  articles,  for  which  she  declared  she 
had  not  the  slightest  use.  In  the  purchase  of  soda 
water  and  candy  at  the  casino,  where  she  scribbled 
her  father's  initials  on  the  checks,  or  at  the  con 
fectioner's  in  the  village  where  she  enjoyed  a  flexible 
credit,  her  generosity  was  prodigal.  She  was  con 
stantly  picking  up  other  youngsters  and  piloting 
them  on  excursions  that  her  ready  fancy  devised; 
and  if  they  returned  late  for  meals  or  otherwise  in 
curred  parental  displeasure,  to  Marian  it  was  only 
part  of  the  joke.  She  was  always  late  and  ingen 
iously  plausible  in  excusing  herself.  "  Mother  won't 
bother;  she  wants  me  to  have  a  good  time.  And 
when  papa  is  here  he  just  laughs  at  me.  Papa's 
just  the  best  ever." 

Mrs.  Bassett  kept  lamenting  to  Professor  Kelton 
her  husband's  protracted  delay  in  Colorado.  He 
was  interested  in  a  mining  property  there  and  was 
waiting  for  the  installation  of  new  machinery,  but 
she  expected  to  hear  that  he  had  left  for  Indiana  at 

(121) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

any  time,  and  he  was  coming  direct  to  Waupegan 
for  a  long  stay.  Mrs.  Owen  was  busy  with  the  Wau 
pegan  farm  and  with  the  direction  of  her  farms  else 
where.  On  the  veranda  of  her  house  one  might  fre 
quently  hear  her  voice  raised  at  the  telephone  as 
she  gave  orders  to  the  men  in  charge  of  her  proper 
ties  in  central  and  southern  Indiana.  Her  hearing 
was  perfect  and  she  derived  the  greatest  satisfaction 
from  telephoning.  She  sold  stock  or  produce  on  these 
distant  estates  with  the  market  page  of  the  "Courier" 
propped  on  the  telephone  desk  before  her,  and  ex 
plained  her  transactions  zestfully  to  Professor  Kelton 
and  Sylvia.  She  communicated  frequently  with  the 
superintendent  of  her  horse  farm  at  Lexington  about 
the ' '  string ' '  she  expected  to  send  forth  to  triumph  at 
county  and  state  fairs.  The  "Annual  Stud  Register  " 
lay  beside  the  Bible  on  the  living-room  table;  and 
the  "Western  Horseman"  mingled  amicably  with 
the  "Congregationalist "  in  the  newspaper  rack. 

The  presence  of  the  old  professor  and  his  grand 
daughter  at  Waupegan  continued  to  puzzle  Mrs. 
Bassett.  Mrs.  Owen  clearly  admired  Sylvia,  and 
Sylvia  was  a  charming  girl  —  there  was  no  gain 
saying  that.  At  the  farmhouse  a  good  deal  had  been 
said  about  Sylvia's  plans  for  going  to  college.  Mrs. 
Owen  had  proudly  called  attention  to  them,  to  her 
niece's  annoyance.  If  Sylvia's  advent  marked  the 
flowering  in  Mrs.  Owen  of  some  new  ideals  of  woman's 
development,  Mrs.  Bassett  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to 
discover  them  and  to  train  Marian  along  similar 
lines.  She  felt  that  her  husband  would  be  displeased 
if  anything  occurred  to  thwart  the  hand  of  destiny 

(122) 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

that  had  so  clearly  pointed  to  Marian  and  Black- 
ford  as  the  natural  beneficiaries  of  the  estate  which 
Mrs.  Owen  by  due  process  of  nature  must  relin 
quish.  In  all  her  calculations  for  the  future  Mrs. 
Owen's  fortune  was  an  integer. 

Mrs.  Bassett  received  a  letter  from  her  husband 
on  Saturday  morning  in  the  second  week  of  Sylvia's 
stay.  Its  progress  from  the  mining-camp  in  the 
mountains  had  been  slow  and  the  boat  that  delivered 
the  letter  brought  also  a  telegram  announcing  Bas- 
sett's  arrival  in  Chicago,  so  that  he  was  even  now 
on  his  way  to  Waupegan.  As  Mrs.  Bassett  pondered 
this  intelligence  Sylvia  appeared  at  the  veranda 
steps  to  inquire  for  Marian. 

"She  hasn't  come  down  yet,  Sylvia.  You  girls 
had  a  pretty  lively  day  yesterday  and  I  told  Marian 
she  had  better  sleep  a  while  longer." 

"We  certainly  have  the  finest  times  in  the  world," 
replied  Sylvia.  "  It  does  n't  seem  possible  that  I  Ve 
been  here  nearly  two  weeks." 

"I'm  glad  you're  going  to  stay  longer.  Aunt 
Sally  told  me  yesterday  it  was  arranged." 

"We  really  did  n't  expect  to  stay  more  than  our 
two  weeks;  but  Mrs.  Owen  made  it  seem  very  easy 
to  do  so." 

"Oh,  you  need  n't  be  afraid  of  outstaying  your 
welcome.  It's  not  Aunt  Sally's  way  to  bore  herself. 
If  she  did  n't  like  you  very  much  she  would  n't 
have  you  here  at  all;  Aunt  Sally's  always  right 
straight  out  from  the  shoulder." 

"Marian  has  done  everything  to  give  me  a  good 
time.  I  want  you  to  know  I  appreciate  it.  I  have 

(123) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

never  known  girls;  Marian  is  really  the  first  girl  I 
have  ever  known,  and  she  has  taught  me  ever  so 
many  things." 

"Marian  is  a  dear,"  murmured  Mrs.  Bassert. 

She  was  a  murmurous  person,  whose  speech  was 
marked  by  a  curious  rising  inflection,  that  turned 
most  of  her  statements  into  interrogatories.  To  Sylvia 
this  habit  seemed  altogether  wonderful  and  elegant. 

11  Suppose  we  take  a  walk  along  the  lake  path, 
Sylvia.  We  can  pretend  we're  looking  for  wild 
flowers  to  have  an  excuse.  I  '11  leave  word  for  Marian 
to  follow." 

They  set  off  along  the  path  together.  Mrs.  Bas- 
sett  had  never  seemed  friendlier,  and  Sylvia  was 
flattered  by  this  mark  of  kindness.  Mrs.  Bassett 
trailed  her  parasol,  using  it  occasionally  to  point  out 
plants  and  flowers  that  called  for  comment.  She 
knew  the  local  flora  well,  and  kept  a  daybook  of 
the  wildflowers  found  in  the  longitude  and  latitude 
of  Waupegan;  and  she  was  an  indefatigable  orni 
thologist,  going  forth  with  notebook  and  opera 
glass  in  hand.  She  spoke  much  of  Thoreau  and  Bur 
roughs  and  they  were  the  nucleus  of  her  summer  li 
brary;  she  said  that  they  gained  tang  and  vigor  from 
their  winter  hibernation  at  the  cottage.  Her  refer 
ences  to  nature  were  a  little  self-conscious,  as  seems 
inevitable  with  such  devotees,  but  we  cannot  be 
little  the  accuracy  of  her  knowledge  or  the  clever 
ness  of  her  detective  skill  in  apprehending  the  native 
flora.  She  found  red  and  yellow  columbines  tucked 
away  in  odd  corners,  and  the  blue-eyed-Mary  with 
its  four  petals  —  two  blue  and  two  white  —  as 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

readily  as  Sylvia's  inexperienced  eye  discovered  the 
more  obvious  ladies'-slipper  and  jack-in-the-pulpit. 
To-day  Mrs.  Bassett  rejoiced  in  the  discovery  of 
the  season's  first  puccoon,  showing  its  orange-yellow 
cluster  on  a  sandy  slope.  She  plucked  a  spray  of  the 
spreading  dogbane,  but  only  that  she  might  descant 
upon  it  to  Sylvia;  it  was  a  crime,  Mrs.  Bassett  said, 
to  gather  wild  flowers,  which  were  never  the  same 
when  transplanted  to  the  house.  When  they  came 
presently  to  a  rustic  seat  Mrs.  Bassett  suggested 
that  they  rest  there  and  watch  the  lake,  which  had 
always  its  mild  excitements. 

"You  haven't  known  Aunt  Sally  a  great  while, 
I  judge,  Sylvia?  Of  course  you  have  n't  known  any 
one  a  great  while!" 

"No;  I  never  saw  her  but  once  before  this  visit. 
That  was  when  grandfather  took  me  to  see  her  in 
Indianapolis  a  year  ago.  She  and  grandfather  are 
old  friends." 

"All  the  old  citizens  of  Indiana  have  a  kind  of 
friendship  among  themselves.  Somebody  said  once 
that  the  difference  between  Indiana  and  Kentucky 
is,  that  while  the  Kentuckians  are  all  cousins  we 
Hoosiers  are  all  neighbors.  But  of  course  so  many 
of  us  have  had  Kentucky  grandfathers  that  we 
understand  the  Kentuckians  almost  as  well  as  our 
own  people.  I  used  to  meet  your  grandfather  now 
and  then  at  Aunt  Sally's;  but  I  can't  say  that  I  ever 
knew  him.  He's  a  delightful  man  and  it's  plain 
that  his  heart  is  centred  in  you." 

11  There  was  never  any  one  like  grandfather,"  said 
Sylvia  with  feeling. 

(125) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"  I  suppose  that  as  he  and  Aunt  Sally  are  such  old 
friends  they  must  have  talked  a  good  deal  together 
about  you  and  your  going  to  college.  It  would  be 
quite  natural." 

Sylvia  had  not  thought  of  this.  She  was  the  least 
guileful  of  beings,  this  Sylvia,  and  she  saw  nothing 
amiss  in  these  inquiries. 

'  I  suppose  they  may  have  done  so;  and  Mrs. 
Owen  talked  to  me  about  going  to  college  when  I 
visited  her/' 

"Oh!  If  she  undertook  to  persuade  you,  then  it  is 
no  wonder  you  decided  to  go.  She  's  a  very  power 
ful  pleader,  as  she  would  put  it  herself." 

"It  was  n't  just  that  way,  Mrs.  Bassett.  I  think 
grandfather  had  already  persuaded  me.  Mrs.  Owen 
did  n't  know  of  it  till  afterward;  but  she  seemed  to 
like  the  idea.  Her  ideas  about  girls  and  women  are 
very  interesting." 

"Yes?  She  has  a  very  decided  way  of  expressing 
herself.  I  should  imagine,  though,  that  with  her 
training  and  manner  of  life  she  might  look  a  little 
warily  at  the  idea  of  college  training  for  women. 
Personally,  you  understand,  I  am  heartily  in  favor 
of  it.  I  have  hoped  that  Marian  might  go  to  college. 
Aunt  Sally  takes  the  greatest  interest  in  Marian, 
naturally,  but  she  has  never  urged  it  upon  us." 

Sylvia  gazed  off  across  the  lake  and  made  no  reply. 
She  recalled  distinctly  Mrs.  Owen's  comments  on 
Marian,  expressed  quite  clearly  on  the  day  of  their 
drive  into  the  country,  a  year  before.  It  was  not  for 
her  to  repeat  those  observations;  she  liked  Marian 
and  admired  her,  and  she  saw  no  reason  why  Marian 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

should  not  go  to  college.  Sylvia,  guessing  nothing  of 
what  was  in  Mrs.  Bassett's  mind,  failed  to  under 
stand  that  Mrs.  Owen's  approval  of  Marian's  educa 
tion  was  of  importance.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  remote  from  her  thoughts  than  the  idea  that 
her  own  plans  concerned  any  one  but  herself  and  her 
grandfather.  She  was  not  so  dull,  however,  but  that 
she  began  to  feel  that  Mrs.  Bassett  was  speaking 
defensively  of  Marian. 

"  Marian's  taste  in  reading  is  very  unusual,  I 
think.  I  have  always  insisted  that  she  read  only  the 
best.  She  is  very  fond  of  Tennyson.  I  fancy  that 
after  all,  home  training  is  really  the  most  valuable, 
—  I  mean  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  home  can  give 
a  child  what  no  school  supplies.  I  don't  mean,  of 
course,  that  we  have  it  in  our  home;  but  I'm  speak 
ing  of  the  ideal  condition  where  there  is  an  atmo 
sphere.  I  've  made  a  point  of  keeping  good  books 
lying  about  the  house,  and  the  best  magazines  and 
reviews.  I  was  never  happier  than  the  day  I  found 
Marian  curled  up  on  a  lounge  reading  Keats.  It 
may  be  that  the  real  literary  instinct,  such  as  I  feel 
Marian  has,  would  only  be  spoiled  by  college;  and 
I  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  have  Marian 
become  a  writer.  A  good  many  of  our  best  American 
women  writers  have  not  been  college  women;  I  was 
looking  that  up  only  the  other  day." 

Sylvia  listened,  deeply  interested;  then  she 
laughed  suddenly,  and  as  Mrs.  Bassett  turned  tow 
ard  her  she  felt  that  it  would  do  no  harm  to  repeat  a 
remark  of  Mrs.  Owen's  that  had  struck  her  as  being 
funny. 

(127) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"I  just  happened  to  remember  something  Mrs. 
Owen  said  about  colleges.  She  said  that  if  it  is  n't  in 
the  colt  the  trainer  can't  put  it  there;  and  I  sup 
pose  the  successful  literary  women  have  had  genius 
whether  they  had  higher  education  or  not.  George 
Eliot  had  n't  a  college  training,  but  of  course  she  was 
a  very  great  woman." 

Mrs.  Bassett  compressed  her  lips.  She  had  not 
liked  this  quotation  from  Mrs.  Owen's  utterances  on 
this  vexed  question  of  higher  education.  Could  it  be 
possible  that  Aunt  Sally  looked  upon  Marian  as  one 
of  those  colts  for  whom  the  trainer  could  do  nothing? 
It  was  not  a  reassuring  thought;  her  apprehensions 
as  to  Sylvia's  place  in  her  kinswoman's  affections 
were  quickened  by  Sylvia's  words;  but  Mrs.  Bassett 
dropped  the  matter. 

"I  have  never  felt  that  young  girls  should  read 
George  Eliot.  She  does  n't  seem  to  me  quite  an  ideal 
to  set  before  a  young  girl." 

As  Sylvia  knew  nothing  of  George  Eliot,  except 
what  she  had  gleaned  from  the  biographical  data  in  a 
text-book  on  nineteenth-century  writers,  she  was 
unable  to  follow  Mrs.  Bassett.  She  had  read  ''Mill 
on  the  Floss,"  and  "  Romola"  and  saw  no  reason  why 
every  one  should  n't  enjoy  them. 

Mrs.  Bassett  twirled  her  closed  parasol  absently 
and  studied  the  profile  of  the  girl  beside  her. 

"The  requirements  for  college  are  not  really  so 
difficult,  I  suppose?"  she  suggested. 

Sylvia's  dark  eyes  brightened  as  she  faced  her 
interlocutor.  Those  of  us  who  know  Sylvia  find  that 
quick  flash  of  humor  in  her  eyes  adorable. 

(128) ' 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

"Oh,  they  can't  be,  for  I  answered  most  of  the 
questions!"  she  exclaimed,  and  then,  seeing  no  re 
sponse  in  her  inquisitor,  she  added  soberly:  "It's 
all  set  out  in  the  catalogue  and  I  have  one  with  me. 
I 'd  be  glad  to  bring  it  over  if  you'd  like  to  see  it." 

11  Thank  you,  Sylvia.  I  should  like  to  see  it.  I 
may  want  to  ask  you  some  questions  about  the  work ; 
but  of  course  you  won't  say  anything  to  Marian  of 
our  talk.  I  am  not  quite  sure,  and  I  '11  have  to  discuss 
it  with  Mr.  Bassett." 

"Of  course  I  shan't  speak  of  it,  Mrs.  Bassett." 

Marian's  voice  was  now  heard  calling  them,  down 
the  path,  and  the  girl  appeared,  a  moment  later, 
munching  a  bit  of  toast  stuccoed  with  jam,  and  eager 
to  be  off  for  the  casino  where  a  tennis  match  was 
scheduled  for  the  morning. 

"Don't  be  late  for  dinner  this  evening,  Marian; 
your  father  will  be  here,  and  if  you  see  Blackford,  be 
sure  to  tell  him  to  meet  the  3.10." 

"Yes,  mama,  I'll  remember,  and  I'll  try  to  meet 
the  train  too."  And  then  to  Sylvia,  as  she  led  the 
way  to  the  boathouse  to  get  the  canoe,  "I'm  glad 
dad's  coming.  He's  perfectly  grand,  and  I'm  going 
to  see  if  he  won't  give  me  a  naphtha  launch.  Dad 's 
a  good  old  scout  and  he's  pretty  sure  to  do  it." 

Marian's  manner  of  speaking  of  her  parents  dis 
closed  the  filial  relationship  in  a  new  aspect  to  Sylvia, 
who  did  not  at  once  reconcile  it  with  her  own  under 
standing  *of  the  fifth  commandment.  Marian  re 
ferred  to  her  father  variously  as  "the  grand  old 
man,"  "the  true  scout,"  "Sir  Morton  the  good 
knight,"  and  to  her  mother  as  "the  Princess  Paul- 

(129) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ine,"  or  "one's  mama,"  giving  to  mama  the  French 
pronunciation.  All  this  seemed  to  Sylvia  to  be  in 
keeping  with  Marian's  general  precociousness. 

Sylvia  had  formed  the  habit  of  stealing  away  in 
the  long  twilights,  after  the  cheerful  gathering  at 
Mrs.  Owen's  supper-table,  for  a  little  self-commun 
ing.  Usually  Mrs.  Owen  and  Professor  Kelton  fell  to 
talking  of  old  times  and  old  friends  at  this  hour  and 
Sylvia's  disappearances  were  unremarked.  She  felt 
the  joy  of  living  these  days,  and  loved  dearly  the 
delaying  hour  between  day  and  night  that  is  so 
lovely,  so  touched  with  poetry  in  this  region.  There 
was  always  a  robin's  vesper  song,  that  may  be  heard 
elsewhere  than  in  Indiana,  but  can  nowhere  else  be 
so  tremulous  with  joy  and  pain.  A  little  creek  ran 
across  Mrs.  Owen's  farm,  cutting  for  itself  a  sharp 
defile  to  facilitate  its  egress  into  the  lake ;  and  Sylvia 
liked  to  throw  herself  down  beside  a  favorite  maple, 
with  the  evening  breeze  whispering  over  the  young 
corn  behind  her,  and  the  lake,  with  its  heart  open  to 
the  coming  of  the  stars,  quiet  before  her,  and  dream 
the  dreams  that  fill  a  girl's  heart  in  those  blessed 
and  wonderful  days  when  the  brook  and  river  meet. 

On  this  Saturday  evening  Sylvia  was  particularly 
happy.  The  day's  activities,  that  had  begun  late, 
left  her  a  little  breathless.  She  was  wondering 
whether  any  one  had  ever  been  so  happy,  and 
whether  any  other  girl's  life  had  ever  been  so  pleas 
antly  ordered.  Her  heartbeat  quickened  as  she 
thought  of  college  and  the  busy  years  that  awaited 
her  there;  and  after  that  would  come  the  great 
world's  wide-open  doors.  She  was  untouched  by 

(130) 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

envy,  hatred,  or  malice.  There  was  no  cloud  any 
where  that  could  mar;  the  stars  that  stole  out  into 
the  great  span  of  sky  were  not  more  tranquil  than 
her  own  heart.  The  world  existed  only  that  people 
might  show  kindness  one  to  another,  and  that  all 
this  beauty  of  wood,  field,  water,  and  starry  sky 
might  bring  joy  to  the  souls  of  men.  She  knew  that 
there  was  evil  in  the  world;  but  she  knew  it  from 
books  and  not  from  life.  Her  path  had  fallen  in 
pleasant  places,  and  only  benignant  spirits  attended 
her. 

She  was  roused  suddenly  by  the  sound  of  steps  in 
the  path  beneath.  This  twilight  sanctuary  had  never 
been  invaded  before,  and  she  rose  hastily.  The 
course  of  an  irregular  path  that  followed  the  lake 
was  broken  here  by  the  creek's  miniature  chasm,  but 
adventurous  pedestrians  might  gain  the  top  and 
continue  over  a  rough  rustic  bridge  along  the  edge 
of  Mrs.  Owen's  cornfield.  Sylvia  peered  down,  ex 
pecting  to  see  Marian  or  Blackford,  but  a  stranger 
was  approaching,  catching  at  bushes  to  facilitate  his 
ascent.  Sylvia  stepped  back,  assuming  it  to  be  a 
cottager  who  had  lost  his  way.  A  narrow-brimmed 
straw  hat  rose  above  the  elderberry  bushes,  and 
with  a  last  effort  the  man  stood  on  level  ground, 
panting  from  the  climb.  He  took  off  his  hat  and 
mopped  his  face  as  he  glanced  about.  Sylvia  had 
drawn  back,  but  as  the  stranger  could  not  go  on 
without  seeing  her  she  stepped  forward,  and  they 
faced  each  other,  in  a  little  plot  of  level  ground  be 
side  the  defile. 

" Pardon  me!"  he  exclaimed,  still  breathing  hard; 
(131) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  then  his  eyes  met  hers  in  a  long  gaze.  His  gray 
eyes  searched  her  dark  ones  for  what  seemed  an 
interminable  time.  Sylvia's  hand  sought  the  maple 
but  did  not  touch  it;  and  the  keen  eyes  of  the  stran 
ger  did  not  loosen  their  hold  of  hers.  A  breeze  blow 
ing  across  the  cornfield  swept  over  them,  shaking  the 
maple  leaves,  and  rippled  the  surface  of  the  lake. 
The  dusk,  deepening  slowly,  seemed  to  shut  them  in 
together. 

"  Pardon  me,  again!  I  hope  I  did  n't  frighten  you! 
I  am  Mr.  Bassett,  Marian's  father." 

"And  I  am  Sylvia  Garrison.    I  am  staying — " 

''Oh,"  he  laughed,  "you  need  n't  tell  me!  They 
told  me  at  the  supper-table  all  about  you  and  that 
you  and  Marian  are  fast  friends." 

"  I  knew  you  were  coming;  they  were  speaking  of 
it  this  morning." 

They  had  drawn  closer  together  during  this  friendly 
exchange.  Again  their  eyes  met  for  an  instant,  then 
he  surveyed  her  sharply  from  head  to  foot,  as  he  stood 
bareheaded  leaning  on  his  stick. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  said  Sylvia.  "There's  a  path 
through  the  corn  that  Mrs.  Owen  lets  me  use. 
They'll  begin  to  wonder  what's  become  of  me." 

"Why  not  follow  the  path  to  the  lane,  —  I  think 
there  is  a  lane  at  the  edge  of  the  field,  —  and  I  will 
wralk  to  the  house  with  you.  The  path  through 
the  corn  must  be  a  little  rough,  and  it's  growing 
dark." 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Mr.  Bassett." 

"I  had  no  idea  of  meeting  any  one  when  I  came 
out.  I  usually  take  a  little  walk  after  supper  when 

(132) 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

I  'm  here,  and  I  wanted  to  get  all  the  car  smoke  out 
of  my  lungs.  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  Chicago;  it 
was  fiercely  hot  there." 

The  path  was  not  wide  enough  for  two  and  she 
walked  before  him.  After  they  had  exhausted  the 
heat  as  a  topic,  silence  fell  upon  them.  He  still 
swung  his  hat  in  his  hand.  Once  or  twice  he  smote 
his  stick  smartly  upon  the  ground.  He  timed  his 
pace  to  hers,  keeping  close,  his  eyes  upon  her  straight 
slender  figure.  When  they  reached  the  lane  they 
walked  together  until  they  came  to  the  highway, 
which  they  followed  to  the  house.  An  oil  lamp 
marked  the  walk  that  led  through  Mrs.  Owen's 
flower  garden. 

"Aren't  you  coming  in,  Mr.  Bassett?"  asked 
Sylvia,  as  they  paused. 

Her  hand  clicked  the  latch  and  the  little  white 
washed  gate  swung  open.  In  the  lamplight  their 
eyes  met  again. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  but  I  must  go  home.  This  is  the  first 
time  I  've  been  here  this  summer,  and  my  stay  is 
short.  I  must  be  off  again  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  that's  too  bad  !  Marian  has  been  telling  me 
that  you  would  stay  a  month;  she  will  be  terribly 
disappointed!" 

"My  Western  trip  took  more  time  than  I  ex 
pected.  I  have  a  good  deal  to  do  at  Fraserville  and 
must  get  back  there." 

She  stepped  inside,  thinking  he  delayed  out  of 
courtesy  to  her,  but  to  her  surprise  he  fastened  the 
latch  deliberately  and  lingered. 

"They  tell  me  you  and  your  grandfather  live  at 

(133) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Montgomery.  It 's  a  charming  town,  one  of  the  most 
interesting  in  the  state." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Bassett.  My  grandfather  taught  in  the 
college  there." 

"  I  have  often  heard  of  Professor  Kelton,  of  course. 
He's  a  citizen  our  state  is  proud  of.  Mrs.  Bassett 
says  you  're  going  to  college  this  fall  —  to  Welles- 
ley,  is  it?  Mrs.  Bassett  has  an  idea  that  Marian 
ought  to  have  a  college  education.  What  do  you 
think  about  it?" 

He  smiled  kindly,  and  there  was  kindness  in  his 
deep  voice. 

"I  think  girls  should  go  who  want  to  go,"  an 
swered  Sylvia,  her  hands  on  the  pickets  of  the  gate. 

"You  speak  like  a  politician,"  laughed  Bassett. 
"That's  exactly  what  I  think;  and  I  haven't  seen 
that  Marian  is  dying  for  a  college  career." 

"She  has  plenty  of  time  to  think  of  it,"  Sylvia 
replied.  "  I  'm  ever  so  much  older" ;  and  this  seemed 
to  dispose  of  that  matter. 
:  "You  are  staying  here  some  time?" 

"Another  week.  It  seems  that  we've  hardly  been 
here  a  day." 

"You  are  fortunate  in  having  Mrs.  Owen  for  a 
friend.  She  is  a  very  unusual  woman." 

"The  most  wonderful  person  I  ever  knew!"  re 
sponded  Sylvia  warmly. 

He  still  showed  no  haste  to  leave  her,  though  he 
had  just  reached  Waupegan,  and  was  going  away 
the  next  day. 

"Your  grandfather  isn't  teaching  at  Madison 
now,  I  believe?" 

(134) 


SYLVIA  AT  LAKE  WAUPEGAN 

"  No ;  but  he  lectures  sometimes,  and  he  has  taught 
me;  there  was  never  a  better  teacher,"  she  answered, 
smiling. 

"You  must  have  been  well  taught  if  you  are 
ready  for  college  so  early;  you  are  —  you  say  you  're 
older  than  Marian  —  do  you  mind  my  asking  how 
old  you  are?" 

" Nearly  seventeen;  seventeen  in  October." 

11  Oh !  Then  you  are  four  years  older  than  Marian. 
But  I  must  n't  keep  you  here.  Please  remember  me 
to  Mrs.  Owen  and  tell  her  I  '11  drop  in  before  I  go." 
He  bent  over  the  gate  and  put  out  his  hand.  "  Good 
night,  Miss  Garrison!" 

Sylvia  had  never  been  called  Miss  Garrison  be 
fore,  and  it  was  not  without  trepidation  that  she 
heard  herself  so  addressed.  Mr.  Bassett  had  spoken 
the  name  gravely,  and  their  eyes  met  again  in  linger 
ing  contact.  When  the  door  closed  upon  her  he 
walked  on  rapidly;  but  once,  before  the  trees  had 
obscured  Mrs.  Owen's  lights,  he  turned  and  glanced 
back. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SILK   STOCKINGS  AND   BLUE   OVERALLS 

ONE  night  in  this  same  June,  Harwood  was 
directed  by  the  city  editor  of  the  "  Courier  " 
to  find  Mr.  Edward  G.  Thatcher.  Two  re 
porters  had  failed  at  it,  and  it  was  desirable  to  verify 
reports  as  to  certain  transactions  by  which  Thatcher, 
in  conjunction  with  Morton  Bassett,  was  believed 
to  be  effecting  a  merger  of  various  glass-manufac 
turing  interests.  Thatcher  had  begun  life  as  a 
brewer,  but  this  would  long  since  have  been  ob 
scured  by  the  broadening  currents  of  fortune  if  it 
had  not  been  for  his  persistent  dabbling  in  politics. 
Whenever  the  Republican  press  was  at  a  loss  for 
something  to  attack,  Thatcher's  breweries — which 
he  had  concealed  in  a  corporation  that  did  not  bear 
his  name  —  were  an  inviting  and  unfailing  target. 
For  years,  though  never  seeking  office,  he  had  been 
a  silent  factor  in  politics,  and  he  and  Bassett,  it  was 
said,  controlled  their  party.  Mrs.  Thatcher  had 
built  an  expensive  house,  but  fearing  that  the  money 
her  husband  generously  supplied  was  tainted  by 
the  remote  beer  vats,  she  and  her  two  daughters 
spent  most  of  their  time  in  Europe,  giving,  however, 
as  their  reason  the  ill-health  of  Thatcher's  son. 
Thatcher's  income  was  large  and  he  spent  it  in  his 
own  fashion.  He  made  long  journeys  to  witness 

(136) 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND  BLUE  OVERALLS 

prize  fights;  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  poor 
poker  player,  but  "a  good  loser";  he  kept  a  racing- 
stable  that  lost  money,  and  he  was  a  patron  of  base 
ball  and  owned  stock  in  the  local  club.  He  was  ''a 
good  fellow"  in  a  sense  of  the  phrase  that  requires 
quotation  marks.  Mrs.  Sally  Owen,  whose  opinion 
in  all  matters  pertaining  to  her  fellow  citizens  is 
not  to  be  slighted,  fearlessly  asked  Thatcher  to  din 
ner  at  her  house.  She  expressed  her  unfavorable 
opinion  of  his  family  for  deserting  him,  and  told  him 
to  his  face  that  a  man  who  knew  as  little  about 
horses  as  he  did  should  have  a  guardian. 

"He's  in  town  somewhere,"  said  the  city  editor; 
"don't  come  back  and  tell  me  you  can't  find  him. 
Try  the  Country  Club,  where  he  was  never  known  to 
go,  and  the  University  Club,  where  he  does  n't  be 
long,  and  all  the  other  unlikely  places  you  can  think 
of.  The  other  boys  have  thrown  up  their  hands." 

Dan  had  several  times  been  fortunate  in  like  quests 
for  men  in  hiding,  and  he  had  that  confidence  in  his 
luck  which  is  part  of  the  good  reporter's  endowment. 
He  called  all  the  clubs  and  the  Thatcher  residence 
by  telephone.  The  clubs  denied  all  knowledge  of 
Edward  G.  Thatcher,  and  his  residence  answered 
not  at  all;  whereupon  Harwood  took  the  trolley  for 
the  Thatcher  mansion  in  the  new  quarter  of  Meridian 
Street  beyond  the  peaceful  shores  of  Fall  Creek.  A 
humorist  who  described  the  passing  show  from  the 
stern  of  a  rubber-neck  wagon  for  the  instruction  of 
tourists  announced  on  every  round  that  "This  is 
Edward  G.  Thatcher's  residence;  it  contains  twelve 
bath-rooms,  and  cost  seventy-five  thousand  dollars 

(137) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

four  years  ago.  The  family  have  lived  in  it  three 
months.  Does  it  pay  to  be  rich?" 

As  Harwood  entered  the  grounds  the  house  loomed 
darkly  before  him.  Most  of  the  houses  in  this  quar 
ter  were  closed  for  the  summer,  but  Dan  assumed 
that  there  must  be  some  sort  of  caretaker  on  the 
premises  and  he  began  patiently  punching  the  front 
door  bell.  Failing  of  any  response,  he  next  tried  a 
side  door  and  finally  the  extreme  rear.  He  had  be 
gun  to  feel  discouraged  when,  as  he  approached  the 
front  entrance  for  a  second  assault,  he  saw  a  light 
flash  beyond  the  dark  blinds.  The  door  opened  cau 
tiously,  and  a  voice  gruffly  bade  him  begone. 

"I  have  a  message  for  Mr.  Thatcher;  it's  very 
important  - 

"Mr.  Thatcher  not  at  home;  nobody  home," 
growled  a  voice  in  broken  English.  "You  get  right 
off  dis  place,  quick!" 

Dan  thrust  his  walking-stick  into  the  small  open 
ing  to  guard  against  having  the  door  slammed  in  his 
face  and  began  a  parley  that  continued  for  several 
minutes  with  rising  heat  on  the  part  of  the  care 
taker.  The  man's  rage  at  being  unable  to  close  the 
door  was  not  without  its  humor*  but  Dan  now  saw, 
beyond  the  German's  broad  shoulders,  a  figure 
lurking  within,  faintly  discernible  from  the  electric 
lamps  in  a  bronze  sconce  on  the  wall. 

The  reporter  and  the  caretaker  were  making  no 
progress  in  their  colloquy  and  Dan  was  trying  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  other  man,  who  leaned  against 
the  wall  quite  indifferent  to  the  struggle  for  the  door. 
Dan  supposed  him  to  be  another  servant,  and  he  had 

(138) 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND   BLUE  OVERALLS 

abandoned  hope  of  learning  anything  of  Thatcher, 
when  a  drawling  voice  called  out:  — 

4 'Open  the  door,  Hans,  and  let  the  gentleman  in: 
I'll  attend  to  him." 

Dan  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  young  man 
of  about  his  own  age,  a  slender  young  fellow,  clad 
in  blue  overalls  and  flannel  shirt.  He  lounged  for 
ward  with  an  air  of  languor  that  puzzled  the  re 
porter.  His  dress  was  not  wholly  conclusive  as  to  his 
position  in  the  silent  house;  the  overalls  still  showed 
their  pristine  folds,  the  shirt  was  of  good  quality  and 
well-cut.  The  e'nds  of  a  narrow  red-silk  four-in-hand 
swung  free.  He  was  clean-shaven  save  for  an  absurd 
little  mustache  so  fair  as  to  be  almost  indistin 
guishable.  His  blond  hair  was  brushed  back  un- 
parted  from  his  forehead.  Another  swift  survey  of 
the  slight  figure  disclosed  a  pair  of  patent-leather 
pumps.  His  socks,  revealed  at  the  ankles,  were 
scarlet.  Dan  was  unfamiliar  with  the  menage  of 
such  establishments  as  this,  and  he  wondered  whether 
this  might  not  be  an  upper  servant  of  a  new  species 
peculiar  to  homes  of  wealth.  He  leaned  on  his 
stick,  hat  in  hand,  and  the  big  blue  eyes  of  the 
young  man  rested  upon  him  with  disconcerting 
gravity.  A  door  slammed  at  the  rear  upon  the  re 
treating  German,  whom  this  superior  functionary 
had  dispatched  about  his  business.  At  a  moment 
when  the  silence  became  oppressive  the  young  man 
straightened  himself  slightly  and  spoke  in  a  low 
voice,  and  with  amusement  showing  clearly  in  his 
eyes  and  about  his  lips,  — 

"You're  a  reporter." 

(139) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Yes;  I'm  from  the  'Courier.'  I'm  looking  for 
Mr.  Thatcher." 

"Suppose,  suppose  —  if  you're  not  in  a  great 
hurry,  you  come  with  me." 

The  pumps,  with  the  scarlet  socks  showing  below 
the  overalls,  turned  at  the  end  of  the  broad  hall  and 
began  ascending  the  stairs.  The  young  man's  man 
ner  was  perfectly  assured.  He  had  not  taken  his 
hands  from  his  pockets,  and  he  carried  himself  with 
an  ease  and  composure  that  set  Dan's  conjectures 
at  naught.  In  the  absence  of  the  family,  a  servant 
might  thus  conduct  himself;  and  yet,  if  Thatcher 
was  not  at  home,  why  should  he  be  thus  ushered 
into  the  inner  sanctities  of  the  mansion  by  this  singu 
lar  young  person,  whose  silk  hose  and  bright  pumps 
were  so  utterly  out  of  harmony  with  the  rest  of  his 
garb.  There  might  be  a  trick  in  it;  perhaps  he  had 
intruded  upon  a  burglarious  invasion,  —  this  in 
vitation  to  the  upper  chambers  might  be  for  the 
purpose  of  shutting  him  in  somewhere  until  the  place 
had  been  looted.  It  was,  in  any  case,  a  novel  ad 
venture,  and  his  curiosity  was  aroused  by  the  languid 
pace  with  which,  without  pausing  at  the  second 
floor,  the  young  man  continued  on  to  the  third. 
Through  an  open  door  Dan  saw  a  bedroon  in  order 
for  occupancy;  but  the  furniture  in  the  upper  and 
lower  halls  was  draped,  and  a  faint  odor  of  camphor 
hung  upon  the  air.  It  had  occurred  to  Harwood  that 
he  might  be  stumbling  upon  material  for  a  good 
"story,"  though  just  what  it  might  prove  to  be  was 
still  a  baffling  question.  His  guide  had  not  spoken 
or  looked  at  him  since  beginning  the  ascent,  and 

(140) 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND   BLUE  OVERALLS 

Harwood  grasped  his  stick  more  firmly  when  they 
gained  the  third  floor.  If  violence  was  in  the  pro- 
'  gramme  he  meant  to  meet  it  gallantly.  His  con 
ductor  passed  through  a  spacious  bedroom,  and  led 
the  way  to  a  pleasant  lounging-  and  reading-room 
with  walls  lined  with  books.  Without  pausing  he 
flung  open  a  door  that  divulged  a  shop,  with  a  bench 
and  tools.  The  litter  of  carpentry  on  the  bare  floor 
testified  to  the  room's  recent  use. 

"Sit  down,  won't  you,  and  have  a  cigar?" 
Dan  hesitated.  He  felt  that  he  must  be  the  victim 
of  a  practical  joke,  and  it  was  time  that  his  dignity 
asserted  itself.  He  had  accepted  a  cigar  and  was 
holding  it  in  his  fingers,  still  standing.  His  strange 
guide  struck  a  match  and  held  it,  so  that  Dan  per 
force  took  advantage  of  the  proffered  flame;  and  he 
noticed  now  for  the  first  time  the  young  fellow's 
slender,  nervous  hands,  which  bore  no  marks  of  hard 
toil.  He  continued  to  watch  them  with  interest  as 
they  found  and  filled  a  pipe.  They  were  amazingly 
•deft,  expressive  hands. 

"Have  a  chair!  It's  a  good  one;  I  made  it  myself !" 
With  this  the  young  gentleman  jumped  lightly 
upon  the  workbench  where  he  nursed  his  knees  and 
smoked  his  pipe.  He  was  a  graceful  person,  trimly 
and  delicately  fashioned,  and  in  this  strange  set 
ting  altogether  inexplicable.  But  Dan's  time  was 
important,  and  he  had  not  yet  learned  anything  as 
to  Edward  G.  Thatcher's  whereabouts.  This  lan 
guid  young  gentleman  seemed  wholly  indifferent  to 
the  reporter's  restlessness,  and  Dan's  professional 
pride  rebelled. 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  must  see  Mr.  Thatcher.  Where 
is  he,  please?'* 

"  He 's  gone,  skipped !  No  manner  of  use  in  looking 
for  him.  On  my  honor,  he's  not  in  town." 

"Then  why  did  n't  you  say  so  and  be  done  with 
it?"  demanded  Dan  angrily. 

11  Please  keep  your  seat,"  replied  the  young  fellow 
from  the  workbench.  "  I  really  wish  you  would." 

He  drew  on  his  pipe  for  a  moment,  and  Dan,  curi 
ously  held  by  his  look  and  manner  and  arrested  by 
the  gentleness  of  his  voice,  awaited  further  develop 
ments.  He  had  no  weapons  with  which  to  deal  with 
this  composed  young  person  in  overalls  and  scarlet 
hose.  He  swallowed  his  anger;  but  his  curiosity  now 
clamored  for  satisfaction. 

"May  I  ask  just  who  you  are  and  why  on  earth 
you  brought  me  up  here?" 

'Those  are  fair  questions  —  two  of  them.  To  the 
first,  I  am  Allen  Thatcher,  and  this  is  my  father's 
house.  To  the  second  -  '  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed.  "Well,  if 
you  must  know,  --  I  was  so  devilish  lonesome!" 

He  gazed  at  Harwood  quizzically,  with  a  half- 
humorous,  half-dejected  air. 

"If  you're  lonesome,  Mr.  Thatcher,  it  must  be 
because  you  prefer  it  that  way.  It  can't  be  necessary 
for  you  to  resort  to  kidnapping  just  to  have  some 
body  to  talk  to.  I  thought  you  were  in  Europe." 

"Nothing  as  bad  as  that!  What's  your  name,  if 
you  don't  mind?" 

When  Dan  gave  it,  Thatcher  nodded  and  thanked 
him. 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND  BLUE  OVERALLS 

" College  man?" 

"Yale." 

" That's  altogether  bully.  I  envy  you,  by  George! 
You  see,"  he  went  on  easily,  as  though  in  the  midst 
of  a  long  and  intimate  conversation,  "they  took  me 
abroad,  and  it  never  really  counted.  They  always 
treated  me  as  though  I  were  an  invalid ;  and  kept  me 
for  a  year  or  two  squatting  on  an  Alp  on  account  of 
my  lungs.  It  amused  them,  no  doubt;  and  it  filled  in 
my  time  till  I  was  too  old  to  go  to  college.  But  now 
that  I  'm  grown  up,  I  'm  going  to  stay  at  home.  I  Ve 
been  here  a  month,  having  a  grand  old  time;  a  little 
lonesome,  and  yet  I  'm  a  person  of  occupations  and 
Hans  cooks  enough  for  me  to  eat.  I  have  n't  been 
down  town  much,  but  nobody  knows  me  here  any 
how.  Dad 's  been  living  at  the  club  or  a  hotel,  but  he 
moved  up  here  to  be  with  me.  Dad  's  the  best  old 
chap  on  earth.  I  guess  he  liked  my  coming  back. 
They  rather  bore  him,  I  fancy.  We've  had  a  bully 
day  or  two,  but  dad  has  skipped.  Gone  to  New  York; 
be  back  in  a  week.  Wanted  me  to  go;  but  not  me! 
I  Ve  had  enough  travel  for  a  while.  They  gave  me 
a  dose  of  it." 

These  morsels  of  information  fell  from  him  care 
lessly.  His  "they,"  Dan  assumed,  referred  to  his 
mother  and  sisters  somewhere  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic;  and  young  Thatcher  spoke  of  them  in  a 
curiously  impersonal  and  detached  fashion.  The 
whimsical  humor  that  twinkled  in  his  eyes  occasion 
ally  was  interesting  and  pleasing;  and  Dan  imagined 
that  he  was  enjoying  the  situation.  Silk  socks  and 
overalls  were  probably  a  part  of  some  whim;  they 

(143) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

certainly  added  picturesqueness  to  the  scene.  But 
the  city  editor  must  be  informed  that  Edward  G. 
Thatcher  was  beyond  his  jurisdiction  and  Dan  rose 
and  moved  toward  the  door.  Allen  jumped  down 
and  crossed  to  him  quickly 

"Oh,  I  say!   I  really  wish  you  would  n't  go!" 

There  was  no  doubt  of  the  pleading  in  his  voice 
and  manner.  He  laid  a  hand  very  gently  on  Dan's 
arm. 

"But  I've  got  to  get  back  downtown,  if  your 
father  has  really  gone  and  is  n't  hidden  away  here 
somewhere." 

"  I've  cut  you  a  slice  right  out  of  the  eternal  truth 
on  that,  old  man.  Father  will  be  in  New  York  for 
breakfast  in  the  morning.  Search  the  house  all  you 
please;  but,  do  you  know,  I  'd  rather  like  you  to  be 
lieve  me." 

"Of  course,  I  believe  you;  but  it's  odd  the  office 
did  n't  know  you  were  here.  They  told  me  you  and 
your  mother  and  sisters  were  abroad,  but  that  your 
father  was  in  town.  A  personal  item  in  the  '  Courier ' 
this  morning  said  that  you  were  all  in  the  Hartz 
Mountains." 

"  I  dare  say  it  did!  The  newspapers  keep  them  all 
pretty  well  before  the  public.   But  I  Ve  had  enough 
junketing.   I  'm  going  to  stay  right  here  for  a  while." 
'  You  prefer  it  here  —  is  that  the  idea?" 

"Yes,  I  fancy  I  should  if  I  knew  it;  I  want  to 
know  it.  But  I  'm  all  kinds  of  crazy,  you  know. 
They  really  think  I  'm  clear  off,  simply  because  their 
kind  of  thing  does  n't  amuse  me.  I  lost  too  much  as 
a  kid  being  away  from  home.  They  said  I  had  to 

(H4) 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND  BLUE  OVERALLS 

be  educated  abroad,  and  there  you  see  me  —  Dres 
den  awhile,  Berlin  another  while,  a  lot  of  Geneva, 
and  Paris  for  grand  sprees.  And  my  lung  was  always 
the  excuse  if  they  wanted  to  do  a  winter  on  the  Nile, 
—  ugh !  The  very  thought  of  Egypt  makes  me  ill 


now." 


11  It  all  sounds  pretty  grand  to  me.  I  was  never 
east  of  Boston  in  my  life." 

"By  Jove!  I  congratulate  you,"  exclaimed  the 
young  man  fervidly.  "  And  I  '11  wager  that  you  went 
to  school  at  a  cross-roads  school-house  and  rode  to 
town  in  a  farm  wagon  to  see  a  circus  that  had  lions 
and  elephants ;  and  you  probably  chopped  wood  and 
broke  colts  and  went  swimming  in  an  old  swimmin'- 
hole  and  did  all  the  other  things  you  read  about  in 
American  biographies  and  story  books.  I  can  see  it 
in  your  eye;  and  you  talk  like  it,  too." 

"I  dare  say  I  do!"  laughed  Dan.  " They've  al 
ways  told  me  that  my  voice  sounds  like  a  nutmeg 
grater." 

"They  filed  mine  off!  Mother  was  quite  strong 
for  the  Italian  a,  and  I  'm  afraid  I  've  caught  it,  just 
like  a  disease." 

"I  should  call  it  a  pretty  good  case.  I  was  ad 
miral  of  a  canal  boat  in  New  Jersey  one  summer 
trying  to  earn  enough  money  to  carry  my  sophomore 
year  in  college,  and  cussing  the  mules  ruined  my 
hope  of  a  reputable  accent.  It  almost  spoiled  my 
Hoosier  dialect!" 

"By  George,  I  wonder  if  the  canal-boat  people 
would  take  me!  It  would  be  less  lonesome  than 
working  at  the  bench  here.  Dad  says  I  can  do  any- 

CHS) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

thing  I  like.  He's  tickled  to  death  because  I've 
come  home.  He's  really  the  right  sort;  he  did  all 
the  horny-handed  business  himself  —  ploughed  corn, 
wore  red  mittens  to  a  red  school-house,  and  got 
licked  with  a  hickory  stick.  But  he  does  n't  under 
stand  why  I  don't  either  take  a  job  in  his  office  or 
gallop  the  Paris  boulevards  with  mother  and  the 
girls;  but  he 'sail  right.  We 're  great  pals.  But  the 
rest  of  them  made  a  row  because  I  came  home.  For 
a  while  they  had  dad's  breweries  as  an  excuse  for 
keeping  away,  and  my  lungs!  Dad  hid  the  breweries, 
so  their  hope  of  a  villa  at  Sorrento  is  in  my  chest. 
Dad  says  my  lungs  have  been  their  main  asset. 
There's  really  nothing  the  matter  with  me;  the  best 
man  in  New  York  told  me  so  as  I  came  through." 

His  manner  of  speaking  of  his  family  was  deli- 
ciously  droll ;  he  yielded  his  confidences  as  artlessly 
as  a  child. 

"They  almost  got  a  steam  yacht  on  me  last  year," 
he  went  on.  "  Hired  a  Vienna  doctor  to  say  I  ought 
to  be  kept  at  sea  between  Gibraltar  and  the  Bos- 
phorus.  And  here,  by  George,  is  America  —  the  dear, 
bully  old  America  of  Washington,  Franklin,  Andrew 
Jackson,  and  Abraham  Lincoln!  And  they  want  to 
keep  me  chasing  around  among  ruins  and  tombs! 
I  say  to  you,  Mr.  Harwood,  in  all  solemnity,  that 
I  've  goo-gooed  my  last  goo-goo  at  the  tombs  of  dead 
kings!" 

They  stood  near  the  shop  door  during  this  inter 
change.  Dan  forgot,  in  his  increasing  interest  and 
mystification,  that  the  "Courier's"  city  editor  was 
waiting  for  news  of  Thatcher,  the  capitalist.  Young 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND  BLUE  OVERALLS 

Thatcher's  narrative  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  pro 
test.  He  was  seriously  in  rebellion  against  his  own 
expatriation.  He  stood  erect  now,  with  the  color 
bright  in  his  cheeks,  one  hand  thrust  into  his  pocket, 
the  other  clenching  his  pipe. 

"  I  tell  you/'  he  declared,  " I  Ve  missed  too  much! 
Life  over  here  is  a  big  thing! —  it's  wonderful,  mar 
velous,  grand,  glorious!  And  who  am  I  to  spend 
winters  on  the  dead  old  Nile  when  history  is  being 
made  right  here  on  White  River !  I  tell  you  I  want 
to  watch  the  Great  Experiment,  and  if  I  were  not  a 
poor,  worthless,  ignorant  ass  I'd  be  a  part  of  it." 

Dan  did  not  question  the  young  fellow's  sincerity. 
His  glowing  eyes  and  the  half-choked  voice  in  which 
he  concluded  gave  an  authentic  stamp  to  his  lament 
and  pronouncement.  A  look  of  dejection  crossed  his 
face.  He  had,  by  his  own  confession,  asked  Dan  into 
the  house  merely  to  have  some  one  to  talk  to ;  he  was 
dissatisfied,  unhappy,  lonely;  and  his  slender  figure 
and  flushed  cheeks  supported  his  own  testimony  that 
his  health  had  been  a  matter  of  concern.  The  Nile 
and  the  Alps  against  which  he  had  revolted  might 
not  be  so  unnecessary  as  he  believed. 

The  situation  was  so  novel  that  Harwood's  mind 
did  not  respond  with  the  promptness  of  his  heart. 
He  had  known  the  sons  of  rich  men  at  college,  and 
some  of  them  had  been  his  friends.  It  was  quite 
the  natural  and  accepted  order  of  things  that  some 
children  should  be  born  to  sheltered,  pampered  lives, 
while  others  were  obliged  to  hew  their  own  way  to 
success.  He  had  observed  in  college  that  the  sons  of 
the  rich  had  a  pretty  good  time  of  it;  but  he  had  gone 

(147) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

his  own  way  unenviously.  It  was  not  easy  to  classify 
young  Thatcher.  He  was  clearly  an  exotic,  a  curious 
pale  flower  with  healthy  roots  and  a  yearning  for 
clean,  free  air.  Dan  was  suddenly  conscious  that  the 
young  fellow's  eyes  were  bent  upon  him  with  a  wist- 
fulness,  a  kind  of  pleading  sweetness,  that  the  re 
porter  had  no  inclination  to  resist.  He  delayed 
speaking,  anxious  to  say  the  right  word,  to  meet  the 
plea  in  the  right  spirit. 

"I  think  I  understand;  I  believe  I  should  feel  just 
as  you  do  if  I  were  in  your  shoes.  It's  mighty  inter 
esting,  this  whole  big  scheme  we  're  a  part  of.  Over 
there  on  the  other  side  it's  all  different,  the  life,  the 
aims,  and  the  point  of  view.  And  here  we've  got 
just  what  you  call  it  —  the  most  wonderful  experi 
ment  the  world  ever  saw.  Great  Scott!"  he  ex 
claimed, kindling  from  the  spark  struck  by  Thatcher's 
closing  words,  "  it 's  prodigious,  overwhelming !  There 
must  n't  be  any  question  of  losing!" 

"That's  right!"  broke  in  Thatcher  eagerly; 
"  that's  what  I've  been  wanting  somebody  to  say! 
It's  so  beautiful,  so  wonderful;  the  hope  and  pro 
mise  are  so  immense!  You  believe  it;  I  can  see  you 
do!"  he  concluded  happily. 

His  hand  stole  shyly  from  the  pocket  that  seemed 
to  be  its  inevitable  hiding-place,  and  paused  un 
certainly;  then  he  thrust  it  out,  smiling. 

"Will  you  shake  hands  with  me?" 

"Let  us  be  old  friends,"  replied  Dan  heartily. 
"And  now  I  've  got  to  get  out  of  here  or  I  '11  lose  my 
job." 

"Then  I  should  have  to  get  you  another.   I  never 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND   BLUE  OVERALLS 

meant  to  keep  you  so  long.  You've  been  mighty 
nice  about  it.  I  suppose  I  could  n't  help  you--  I 
mean  about  dad?  All  you  wanted  was  to  see  father 
or  find  you  could  n't." 

"I  had  questions  to  ask  him,  of  course.  They 
were  about  a  glass-factory  deal  with  Bassett." 

''Oh,  I  dare  say  they  bought  them!  He  asked  me 
if  I  did  n't  want  to  go  into  the  glass  business.  He 
talks  to  me  a  lot  about  things.  Dad's  thinking 
about  going  to  the  Senate.  Dad 's  a  Democrat,  like 
Jefferson  and  Jackson.  If  he  goes  to  the  Senate  I  '11 
have  a  chance  to  see  the  wheels  go  round  at  Wash 
ington.  Perfectly  bully  for  me!" 

Harwood  grinned  at  the  youth's  naive  references 
to  Edward  Thatcher's  political  ambitions.  Thatcher 
was  known  as  a  wealthy  "sport,"  and  Dan  had  re 
sented  his  meddling  in  politics.  But  this  was  start 
ling  news  —  that  Thatcher  was  measuring  himself 
for  a  senatorial  toga. 

"You'd  better  be  careful!  There's  a  good  story 
in  that!" 

"But  you  would  n't!  You  see,  I'm  not  supposed 
to  know!" 

"  Bassett  and  your  father  will  probably  pull  it  off, 
if  they  try  hard  enough.  They've  pulled  off  worse 
things.  If  you  're  interested  in  American  types  you 
should  know  Bassett.  Ever  see  him?" 

Allen  laughed.  His  way  of  laughing  was  pleasant;; 
there  was  a  real  bubbling  mirth  in  him. 

"No;  but  I  read  about  him  in  the  'Courier,* 
which  they  always  have  follow  them  about  —  I 
don't  know  why.  It  must  be  that  it  helps  them  to* 

(H9) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

rejoice  that  they  are  so  far  away  from  home;  but  I 
always  used  to  read  it  over  there,  I  suppose  to  see 
how  much  fun  I  missed !  And  at  a  queer  little  place 
in  Switzerland  where  we  were  staying  —  I  remember, 
because  our  landlord  had  the  drollest  wart  on  his 
chin  —  a  copy  of  the  'Courier'  turned  up  on  a 
rainy  day  and  I  read  it  through.  A  sketch  of  Bassett 
tickled  me  because  he  seemed  so  real.  I  felt  that  I  'd 
like  to  be  Morton  Bassett  myself,  --  the  man  who 
does  things, --the  masterful  American,  —  a  real 
type,  by  George!  And  that  safe  filled  with  beautiful 
bindings;  it's  fine  to  know  there  are  such  fellows." 

"Your  words  affect  me  strangely;  I  wrote  the 
piece!" 

"Now  that  is  funny!"  Allen  glanced  at  Dan 
with  frank  admiration.  "You  write  well  —  praise 
from  Sir  Hubert  --  I  scribble  verses  myself!  So  our 
acquaintance  really  began  a  long  time  ago.  It  must 
have  been  last  October  that  we  were  at  that  place." 

'Yes;  it  was  in  the  fall  sometime.  It's  pleasant 
to  know  that  anything  printed  in  a  newspaper  is 
ever  remembered  so  long.  Bassett  is  an  interesting 
man  all  right  enough." 

"It  must  be  bully  to  meet  men  like  that  —  the 
men  who  have  a  hand  in  the  big  things.  I  must  get 
dad  to  introduce  me.  I  suppose  you  know  every 
body!"  he  ended  admiringly. 

They  retraced  their  steps  through  the  silent 
house  and  down  to  the  front  door,  continuing  their 
talk.  As  Dan  turned  for  their  last  words  on  the 
veranda  steps  he  acted  on  an  impulse  and  said :  — 

"Have  supper  with  me  to-morrow  night  —  we 

(150) 


SILK  STOCKINGS  AND  BLUE  OVERALLS 

won't  call  it  dinner  —  at  the  Whitcomb  House.  I'll 
meet  you  in  the  lobby  at  six  o'clock.  The  honorable 
state  committee  is  in  town  and  I  '11  point  out  some  of 
the  moulders  of  our  political  destiny.  They're  a 
joy  to  the  eye,  I  can  tell  you!" 

Allen's  eager  acquiescence,  his  stumbling,  mur 
mured  thanks,  emphasized  Dan's  sense  of  the  for 
lorn  life  young  Thatcher  had  described. 

"So  the  old  boy's  skipped,  has  he?"  demanded 
the  city  editor.  "Well,  that's  one  on  us!  Who  put 
you  on?" 

"I  kept  at  the  bell  until  the  door  opened  and 
then  I  saw  Thatcher's  son.  He  told  me." 

"Oh,  the  family  idiot  let  you  in,  did  he?  Then 
there's  no  telling  whether  it's  true  or  not.  He's 
nutty,  that  fellow.  Did  n't  know  he  was  here." 

11 1  believe  he  told  me  the  truth.  His  father  's  on 
his  way  to  New  York." 

"Well,  that  sounds  definite;  but  it  does  n't  make 
any  difference  now.  We've  just  had  a  tip  to  let  the 
deal  alone.  For  God's  sake,  keep  at  the  law,  Har- 
wood;  this  business  is  hell."  The  city  editor  bit  a  fat 
cigar  savagely.  'You  no  sooner  strike  a  good  thing 
and  work  on  it  for  two  days  than  you  butt  into  a 
dead  wall.  What?  No;  there's  nothing  more  for 
you  to-night." 


CHAPTER   IX 

DANIEL   HARWOOD    RECEIVES   AN   OFFER 

A  BRIEF  note  from  Morton   Bassett,  dated 
at  Fraserville,   reached    Harwood   in  July. 
In  five  lines  Bassett  asked  Dan  to  meet  him 
at  the  Whitcomb  House  on  a  day  and  hour  suc 
cinctly  specified. 

Harwood  had  long  since  exhausted  the  list  of 
Hoosier  statesmen  selected  for  niches  in  the  "Couri 
er's"  pantheon.  After  his  visit  to  Fraserville,  he 
had  met  Bassett  occasionally  in  the  street  or  at  the 
Whitcomb  House;  and  several  times  he  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  him  passing  through  the  reception  room 
of  the  law  office  into  Mr.  Fitch's  private  room.  On 
these  occasions  Dan  was  aware  that  Bassett's  pre 
sence  caused  a  ripple  of  interest  to  run  through  the 
office.  The  students  in  the  library  generally  turned 
from  their  books  to  speak  of  Bassett  in  low  tones; 
and  Mr.  Wright,  coming  in  from  a  journey  on  one 
of  these  occasions  and  anxious  to  see  his  partner 
forthwith,  lifted  his  brow  and  said  "Oh!"  meaning 
fully  when  told  that  it  was  Morton  Bassett  who  en 
gaged  the  time  of  the  junior  member.  Bassett's 
name  did  not  appear  in  the  office  records  to  Dan's 
knowledge  nor  was  he  engaged  in  litigation.  His 
conferences  were  always  with  Fitch  alone,  and  they 
were  sometimes  of  length. 

(152) 


DANIEL  HARWOOD   RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

Harwood  was  not  without  his  perplexities  these 
days.  His  work  for  the  "Courier"  had  gradually 
increased  until  he  found  that  his  time  for  study  had 
diminished  almost  to  the  vanishing  point.  The  home 
acres  continued  unprofitable,  and  he  had,  since 
leaving  college,  devoted  a  considerable  part  of  his 
earnings  to  the  relief  of  his  father.  His  father's  lack 
of  success  was  an  old  story  and  the  home-keeping 
sons  were  deficient  in  initiative  and  energy.  Dan, 
with  his  ampler  outlook,  grudged  them  nothing,  but 
the  home  needs  were  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  dis 
position  of  his  own  time.  He  had  now  a  regular  as 
signment  to  the  county  courts  and  received  a  salary 
from  the  "  Courier."  He  was  usually  so  tired  at  the 
end  of  his  day's  work  that  he  found  it  difficult  to 
settle  down  to  study  at  night  in  the  deserted  law 
office.  The  constant  variety  and  excitement  of  news 
paper  work  militated  against  the  sober  pondering 
of  legal  principles  and  Dan  had  begun  to  realize  that, 
with  the  necessity  for  earning  money  hanging  over 
him,  his  way  to  the  bar,  or  to  a  practice  if  he  should 
qualify  himself,  lay  long  and  bleak  before  him. 

Dan  had  heard  much  of  Morton  Bassett  since  his 
visit  to  Fraserville.  His  conviction,  dating  from  the 
Fraserville  visit,  that  Bassett  was  a  man  of  unusual 
character,  destined  to  go  far  in  any  direction  in  which 
he  chose  to  exert  his  energies,  was  proved  by  Bassett's 
growing  prominence.  A  session  of  the  legislature  had 
intervened,  and  the  opposition  press  had  hammered 
Bassett  hard.  The  Democratic  minority  under  Bas 
sett's  leadership  had  wielded  power  hardly  second 
to  that  of  the  majority.  Bassett  had  introduced 

(153) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

into  state  politics  the  bi-partisan  alliance,  a  device 
by  virtue  of  which  members  of  the  assembly  repre 
senting  favored  interests  cooperated,  to  the  end  that 
no  legislation  viciously  directed  against  railways, 
manufacturers,  brewers  and  distillers  should  suc 
ceed  through  the  deplorable  violence  of  reformers 
and  radicals.  Apparently  without  realizing  it,  and 
clearly  without  caring  greatly,  Bassett  was  thus 
doing  much  to  destroy  the  party  alignments  that 
had  in  earlier  times  nowhere  else  been  so  definitely 
marked  as  in  Indiana.  Partisan  editors  of  both  camps 
were  glad  when  the  sessions  closed,  for  it  had  been 
no  easy  matter  to  defend  or  applaud  the  acts  of 
either  majority  or  minority,  so  easily  did  Republi 
cans  and  Democrats  plot  together  at  neutral  camp- 
fires.  It  had  not  been  so  in  those  early  post-bellum 
years,  when  Oliver  Morton  of  the  iron  mace  still 
hobbled  on  crutches.  Harrison  and  Hendricks  had 
fought  no  straw  men  when  they  went  forth  to  bat 
tle.  Harwood  began  to  be  conscious  of  these  changes, 
which  were  wholly  irreconcilable  with  the  political 
ideals  he  had  imbibed  from  Sumner  at  Yale.  He  had 
witnessed  several  political  conventions  of  both  par 
ties  from  the  press  table,  and  it  was  gradually  dawn 
ing  upon  him  that  politics  is  not  readily  expressed 
in  academic  terminology. 

The  silver  lining  of  the  Democratic  cloud  had  not 
greatly  disturbed  Morton  Bassett.  He  had  been  a 
delegate  to  the  national  convention  of  1896,  but 
not  conspicuous  in  its  deliberations;  and  in  the  sub 
sequent  turbulent  campaign  he  had  conducted  him 
self  with  an  admirable  discretion.  He  was  a  mem- 

(154) 


DANIEL  HARWOOD   RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

ber  of  the  state  committee  and  the  chairman  was 
said  to  be  of  his  choosing.  Bassett  stood  for  party 
regularity  and  deplored  the  action  of  those  Demo 
crats  who  held  the  schismatic  national  convention 
at  Indianapolis  and  nominated  the  Palmer  and 
Buckner  ticket  on  a  gold-standard  platform.  He 
had  continued  to  reelect  himself  to  the  senate  with 
out  trouble,  and  waited  for  the  political  alchemists 
of  his  party  to  change  the  silver  back  to  gold.  The 
tariff  was,  after  all,  the  main  issue,  Bassett  held;  but 
it  was  said  that  in  his  business  transactions  during 
these  vexed  years  he  had  stipulated  gold  payment 
in  his  contracts.  This  was  never  proved;  and  if, 
as  charged,  he  voted  in  1896  for  Republican  presi 
dential  electors  it  did  not  greatly  matter  when  a 
considerable  number  of  other  Hoosier  Democrats 
who,  to  outward  view  were  virtuously  loyal,  managed 
to  run  with  both  hounds  and  hare.  Bassett  believed 
that  his  party  would  regain  its  lost  prestige  and  come 
into  power  again;  meanwhile  he  prospered  in  busi 
ness,  and  wielded  the  Democratic  minority  at  the 
state  house  effectively. 

Dan  presented  himself  punctually  at  the  Whit- 
comb  House  where  Bassett,  with  his  bag  packed,  sat 
reading  a  magazine.  He  wore  a  becoming  gray  suit 
without  a  waistcoat,  and  a  blue  neglige  shirt,  with 
a  turnover  collar  and  a  blue  tie.  He  pulled  up  his 
creased  trousers  when  he  sat  down,  and  the  socks 
thus  disclosed  above  his  tan  Oxfords  proved  to  be 
blue  also.  His  manner  was  cordial  without  effusive 
ness;  when  they  shook  hands  his  eyes  met  Dan's 
with  a  moment's  keen,  searching  gaze,  as  though  he 

(155) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

sought  to  affirm  at  once  his  earlier  judgment  of  the 
young  man  before  him. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr.  Harwood.  I  was 
to  be  in  town  for  the  day  and  named  this  hour  know 
ing  I  should  be  free." 

' '  I  supposed  you  were  taking  it  easy  at  Lake  Waupe- 
gan.  I  remember  you  told  me  you  had  a  place  there." 

Bassett's  eyes  met  Dan's  quickly;  then  he  an 
swered  :  — 

"Oh,  I  ought  to  be  there,  but  I  Ve  only  had  a  day 
of  it  all  summer.  I  had  to  spend  a  lot  of  time  in 
Colorado  on  some  business;  and  when  I  struck 
Waupegan  I  found  that  matters  had  been  accumu 
lating  at  home  and  I  only  spent  one  night  at  the 
lake.  But  I  feel  better  when  I  'm  at  work.  I  'm  hold 
ing  Waupegan  in  reserve  for  my  old  age." 

"You  don't  look  as  though  you  needed  a  vaca 
tion,"  remarked  Dan.  "In  fact  you  look  as  though 
you'd  had  one." 

"The  Colorado  sun  did  that.  How  are  things  go 
ing  with  you?" 

"Well,  I've  kept  busy  since  I  saw  you  in  Fraser- 
ville.  But  I  seem  doomed  to  be  a  newspaper  man  in 
spite  of  myself. .  I  like  it  well  enough,  but  I  think  I 
told  you  I  started  out  with  some  hope  of  landing 
in  the  law." 

"Yes,  I  remember.  I'm  afraid  the  trouble  with 
you  is  that  you  're  too  good  a  reporter.  That  sketch 
you  wrote  of  me  proved  that.  If  I  had  not  been  the 
subject  of  it  I  should  be  tempted  to  say  that  it 
showed  what  I  believe  they  call  the  literary  touch. 
Mrs.  Bassett  liked  it;  maybe  because  there  was  so 

(156) 


DANIEL  HARWOOD  RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

little  of  her  in  it.  We  both  appreciated  your  nice 
feeling  and  consideration  in  the  whole  article.  Well, 
just  how  are  you  coming  on  in  the  law?" 

"Some  of  my  work  at  college  was  preliminary  to  a 
law  course,  and  I  have  done  all  the  reading  possible 
in  Wright  and  Fitch's  office.  But  I  have  to  eat  and 
the  'Courier'  takes  care  of  that  pretty  well;  I've 
had  to  give  less  time  to  study.  I  don't  know  enough 
to  be  able  to  command  a  position  as  law  clerk, — 
there  are  n't  many  pay  jobs  of  that  sort  in  a  town 
like  this." 

"I  suppose  that's  true,"  assented  Bassett.  "I 
suppose  I  shall  always  regret  I  did  n't  hang  on  at  the 
law,  but  I  had  other  interests  that  conflicted.  But 
I  'm  a  member  of  the  bar,  as  I  probably  told  you  at 
Fraserville,  and  I  have  a  considerable  library  stored 
away." 

"That,"  laughed  Dan,  "is  susceptible  of  two  in 
terpretations." 

"Qh,  I  don't  mean  it's  in  my  head;  it's  in  a  ware 
house  in  Fraserville." 

The  grimness  of  Bassett's  face  in  repose  was  an  ef 
fect  of  his  close-trimmed  mustache.  He  was  by  no 
means  humorless  and  his  smile  was  pleasant.  Dan 
felt  drawn  to  him  again  as  at  Fraserville.  Here  was  a 
man  who  stood  four  square  to  the  winds,  undisturbed 
by  the  cyclonic  outbursts  of  unfriendly  newspapers. 
In  spite  of  the  clashing  winter  at  the  state  house  and 
all  he  had  heard  and  read  of  the  senate  leader  since 
the  Fraserville  visit,  Dan's  opinion  of  Bassett  stood. 
His  sturdy  figure,  those  firm,  masterful  hands,  and 
his  deep,  serious  voice  all  spoke  for  strength. 

(157) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,  Mr.  Harwood,  that  we 
might  be  of  service  to  each  other.  I  have  a  good  many 
interests.  You  may  have  gathered  that  I  am  a  very 
practical  person.  That  is  wholly  true.  In  business 
I  aim  at  success;  I  did  n't  start  out  in  life  to  be  a 
failure." 

Bassett  paused  a  moment  and  Dan  nodded.  It 
was  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  say  that  such  should 
be  every  man's  hope  and  aim,  but  Bassett  continued. 

" I'm  talking  to  you  frankly.  I  'm  not  often  mis 
taken  in  my  judgments  of  men  and  I've  taken  a 
liking  to  you.  I  want  to  open  an  office  here  chiefly 
to  have  a  quiet  place  from  which  to  keep  track  of 
things  that  interest  me.  Fraserville  is  no  longer 
quite  central  enough  and  I  'm  down  here  a  good  deal. 
I  need  somebody  to  keep  an  office  open  for  me.  I  've 
been  looking  about  and  there  are  some  rooms  in  the 
Boordman  Building  that  I  think  would  be  about 
right.  You  might  call  the  position  I'm  suggesting 
a  private  secretaryship,  as  I  should  want  you  to  take 
charge  of  correspondence,  make  appointments,  scan 
the  papers,  and  keep  me  advised  of  the  trend  of  things. 
I  'm  going  to  move  my  law  library  down  here  to  give 
the  rooms  a  substantial  look,  and  if  you  feel  like 
joining  me  you'll  have  a  good  deal  of  leisure  for 
study.  Then  when  you're  ready  for  practice  I  may 
be  in  a  position  to  help  you.  You  will  have  a  salary 
of,  say,  twelve  hundred  to  begin  with,  but  you  can 
make  yourself  worth  more  to  me." 

Dan  murmured  a  reply  which  Bassett  did  not 
heed. 

"Your  visit  to  my  home  and  the  article  in  the 

(158) 


DANIEL  HARWOOD  RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

'Courier'  first  suggested  this  to  me.  It  struck  me 
that  you  understood  me  pretty  well.  I  read  all  the 
other  sketches  in  that  series  and  the  different  tone 
in  which  you  wrote  of  me  gave  me  the  idea  that  you 
had  tried  to  please  me,  and  that  you  knew  how  to 
do  it.  HOWT  does  the  proposition  strike  you?" 

"It  couldn't  be  otherwise  than  gratifying,  Mr. 
Bassett.  It's  taken  my  breath  away.  It  widens  all 
my  horizons.  I  have  been  questioning  my  destiny 
lately;  the  law  as  a  goal  had  been  drawing  further 
away.  And  this  mark  of  confidence  — " 

"Oh,  that  point,  the  confidence  will  have  to  be 
mutual.  I  am  a  close-mouthed  person  and  have  no 
confidants,  but  of  necessity  you  will  learn  my  af 
fairs  pretty  thoroughly  if  you  accept  my  offer.  You 
have  heard  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  me  —  most  of  it 
unflattering.  You  have  heard  that  I  drive  hard  bar 
gains.  At  every  session  of  the  legislature  I  am  charged 
with  the  grossest  corruption.  There  are  men  in  my 
own  party  who  are  bent  on  breaking  me  down  and 
getting  rid  of  me.  I  'm  going  to  give  them  the  best 
fight  I  can  put  up.  I  can't  see  through  the  back  of 
my  head:  I  want  you  to  do  that  for  me." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  the  practical  side  of 
politics;  it's  full  of  traps  I  've  never  seen  sprung,  but 
I  know  they're  planted." 

"To  be  perfectly  frank,  it's  because  you're  inex 
perienced  that  I  want  you.  I  would  n't  trust  any 
body  who  had  political  ambitions  of  his  own,  or  who 
had  mixed  up  in  any  of  these  local  squabbles.  And, 
besides,  you're  a  gentleman  and  an  educated  man. 
and  that  counts  for  something." 

(159) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"You  are  very  kind  and  generous.  I  appreciate 
this  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  And  I  'd  like  — " 

"Don't  decide  about  it  now.  I'd  rather  you 
did  n't.  Take  a  week  to  it,  then  drop  me  a  line  to 
Fraserville,  or  come  up  if  you  want  to  talk  further." 

"Thank  you ;  I  shan't  want  so  much  time.  In  any 
event  I  appreciate  your  kindness.  It's  the  most 
cheering  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me." 

Bassett  glanced  at  his  watch.  He  had  said  all  he 
had  to  say  in  the  matter  and  closed  the  subject 
characteristically. 

"Here's  a  little  thing  I  picked  up  to-day,  —  a 
copy  of  Darlington's  'Narrative,'  —  he  was  with  St. 
Clair,  you  know ;  and  practically  all  the  copies  of  the 
book  were  burned  in  a  Philadelphia  printing-office 
before  they  were  bound;  you  will  notice  that  some 
of  the  pages  are  slightly  singed.  As  you  saw  at  my 
house,  I  'm  interested  in  getting  hold  of  books  relat 
ing  to  the  achievements  of  the  Western  pioneers. 
Some  of  these  bald,  unvarnished  tales  give  a  capital 
idea  of  the  men  who  conquered  the  wilderness.  They 
had  the  real  stuff  in  them,  those  fellows!" 

He  took  the  battered  volume  —  a  pamphlet 
clumsily  encased  in  boards,  and  drew  his  hand  across 
its  rough  sides  caressingly. 

"Another  of  my  jokes  on  the  State  Library.  The 
librarian  told  me  I  'd  never  find  a  copy,  and  this  was 
on  top  of  a  pile  of  trash  in  a  second-hand  shop  right 
here  in  this  town.  It  cost  me  just  fifty  cents." 

He  snapped  his  bag  shut  on  the  new-found  treas 
ure  and  bade  Dan  good-bye  without  referring  again 
to  the  proposed  employment. 

(160) 


DANIEL  HARWOOD  RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

Dan  knew,  as  he  left  the  hotel,  that  if  an  answer 
had  been  imperatively  demanded  on  the  spot,  he 
should  have  accepted  Bassett's  proposition;  but  as 
he  walked  slowly  away  questions  rose  in  his  mind. 
Bassett  undoubtedly  expected  to  reap  some  benefit 
from  his  services,  and  such  services  would  not,  of 
course,  be  in  the  line  of  the  law.  They  were  much 
more  likely  to  partake  of  the  function  of  journalism, 
in  obtaining  publicity  for  such  matters  as  Bassett 
wished  to  promulgate.  The  proposed  new  office  at 
the  capital  marked  an  advance  of  Bassett's  pickets. 
He  was  abandoning  old  fortifications  for  newer  and 
stronger  ones,  and  Dan's  imagination  kindled  at  the 
thought  of  serving  this  masterful  general  as  aide-de 
camp. 

He  took  a  long  walk,  thinking  of  Bassett's  offer 
and  trying  to  view  it  from  a  philosophical  angle. 
The  great  leaders  in  American  politics  had  come 
oftener  than  not  from  the  country,  he  reflected. 
Fraserville,  in  Dan's  cogitations,  might,  as  Bassett's 
star  rose,  prove  to  be  another  Springfield  or  Fremont 
or  Canton,  shrouding  a  planet  destined  to  a  brilliant 
course  toward  the  zenith.  He  did  not  doubt  that 
Bassett's  plans  were  well-laid;  the  state  senator  was 
farseeing  and  shrewd,  and  by  attaching  himself  to 
this  man,  whose  prospects  were  so  bright,  he  would 
shine  in  the  reflected  glory  of  his  successes.  And  the 
flattery  of  the  offer  was  not  in  itself  without  its 
magic. 

However,  as  the  days  passed  Dan  was  glad  that 
he  had  taken  time  for  reflection.  He  began  to  mini 
mize  the  advantages  of  the  proposed  relationship,  and 

(161) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

to  ponder  the  ways  in  which  it  would  compel  a  certain 
self-effacement.  He  had  sufficient  imagination  to 
color  the  various  scenes  in  which  he  saw  himself 
Basse tt's  "man."  In  moods  of  self-analysis  he  knew 
his  nature  to  be  sensitive,  with  an  emotional  side 
whose  expressions  now  and  then  surprised  him.  He 
rallied  sharply  at  times  from  the  skeptical  attitude 
which  he  felt  journalism  was  establishing  in  him,  and 
assured  himself  that  his  old  ideals  were  safe  in  the 
citadel  his  boyhood  imagination  had  built  for  them. 
Dan's  father  was  a  veteran  of  the  Civil  War  and  he 
had  been  taught  to  believe  that  the  Democratic 
Party  had  sought  to  destroy  the  Union  and  that  the 
Republican  Party  alone  had  saved  it.  Throughout 
his  boyhood  on  the  Harrison  County  farm,  he  had 
been  conscious  of  the  recrudescence  of  the  wartime 
feeling  in  every  political  campaign.  His  admiration 
for  the  heroes  of  the  war  was  in  no  wise  shaken  at 
New  Haven,  but  he  first  realized  there  that  new  is 
sues  demanded  attention.  He  grew  impatient  of  all 
attempts  to  obscure  these  by  harking  back  to  ques 
tions  that  the  war  had  finally  determined,  if  it  had 
served  any  purpose  whatever.  He  broke  a  lance 
frequently  with  the  young  men  who  turned  over  the 
books  in  Wright  and  Fitch's  office,  most  of  whom 
were  Republicans  and  devout  believers  that  the  fur 
nace  fires  of  America's  industries  were  brought  down 
from  Heaven  by  Protection,  a  modern  Prometheus 
of  a  new  order  of  utilitarian  gods.  In  the  view  of 
these  earnest  debaters,  Protection  was  the  first  and 
last  commandment,  the  law  and  the  prophets.  The 
"  Indianapolis  Advertiser"  and  protection  news- 

(162) 


DANIEL  HARWOOD  RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

papers  generally  had  long  attacked  periodically 
those  gentlemen  who,  enjoying  the  sheltered  life 
of  college  and  university,  were  corrupting  the  youth 
of  the  land  by  questioning  the  wisdom  of  the  fire- 
kindling  god.  There  was  a  wide  margin  between 
theory  and  practice,  between  academic  dilletantism 
and  a  prosperous  industrial  life  fostered  and  shielded 
by  acts  of  Congress.  It  required  courage  for  young 
men  bred  in  the  popular  faith  to  turn  their  backs 
upon  the  high  altar,  so  firmly  planted,  so  blazing  with 
lamps  of  perpetual  adoration. 

While  Dan  was  considering  the  politician's  offer, 
a  letter  from  home  brought  a  fresh  plea  for  help, 
and  strengthened  a  growing  feeling  that  his  wiser 
course  was  to  throw  in  his  fortunes  with  Bassett.  In 
various  small  ways  Mr.  Fitch  had  shown  an  interest 
in  Harwood,  and  Dan  resolved  to  take  counsel  of  the 
lawyer  before  giving  his  answer. 

The  little  man  sat  in  his  private  room  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  with  his  chair  tipped  back  and  his  feet  on 
his  desk.  He  was,  in  his  own  phrase,  ''thinking  out 
a  brief."  He  fanned  himself  in  a  desultory  fashion 
with  a  palm  leaf.  Dan  had  carried  in  an  arm  load  of 
books  which  Fitch  indicated  should  be  arranged, 
back-up,  on  the  floor  beside  him. 

Dan  lingered  a  moment  and  Fitch's  "Well"  gave 
him  leave  to  proceed.  He  stated  Bassett's  offer  suc 
cinctly,  telling  of  his  visit  to  Fraserville  and  of  the 
interview  at  the  Whitcomb.  When  he  had  concluded 
Fitch  asked :  — 

"Why  haven't  you  gone  ahead  and  closed  the 
matter?  On  the  face  of  it  it 's  a  good  offer.  It  gives 

(163) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

you  a  chance  to  read  law  and  to  be  associated  with 
a  man  who  is  in  a  position  to  be  of  great  service  to 
you." 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  sir,  I  have  had  doubts. 
Bassett  stands  for  some  things  I  don't  approve  of 

-  his  kind  of  politics,  I  mean/' 

"Oh!  He  does  n't  quite  square  with  your  ideals, 
is  that  it?" 

"I  suppose  that  is  it,  Mr.  Fitch." 

The  humor  kindled  in  the  little  man's  brown  eyes, 
and  his  fingers  played  with  his  whitening  red  beard. 

"Just  how  strong  are  those  ideals  of  yours,  Mr. 
Harwood?" 

"They're  pretty  strong,  I  hope,  sir." 

Fitch  dropped  his  feet  from  the  desk,  opened  a 
drawer,  and  drew  out  a  long  envelope. 

"  It  may  amuse  you  to  know  that  this  is  the  sketch 
of  Bassett  you  printed  in  the  '  Courier '  last  fall.  I 
did  n't  know  before  that  you  wrote  it.  No  wonder  it 
tickled  him.  And — er — some  of  it  is  true.  I  would  n't 
talk  to  any  other  man  in  Indiana  about  Bassett.  He 's 
a  friend  and  a  client  of  mine.  He  does  n't  trust  many 
people ;  he  does  n' t "  -  the  little  man's  eyes  twinkled 
-"he  doesn't  trust  Wright!  —  and  he  trusts  me 
because  we  are  alike  in  that  we  keep  our  mouths 
shut.  You  must  have  impressed  him  very  favorably. 
He  seems  willing  to  take  you  at  face  value.  It  would 
have  been  quite  natural  for  him  to  have  asked  me 
about  you,  but  he  did  n't.  Do  you  know  Thatcher 

-  Edward  G.?   He  has  business  interests  with  Bas 
sett,  and  Thatcher  dabbles  in  politics  just  enough 
to  give  him   power  when  he  wants  it.    Thatcher 


DANIEL  HARWOOD  RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

is  a  wealthy  man,  who  is  n't  fooling  with  small  pol 
itics.  If  some  day  he  sees  a  red  apple  at  the  top  of 
the  tree  he  may  go  for  it.  There 'd  be  some  fun  if 
Bassett  tried  to  shake  down  the  same  apple/' 

"I  know  Thatcher's  son." 

" Allen?  I  met  him  the  other  day.  Odd  boy;  I 
guess  that's  one  place  where  Ed  Thatcher's  heart 
is  all  right." 

After  a  moment's  reflection  with  his  face  turned 
to  the  open  window  Fitch  added :  — 

"Mr.  Harwood,  if  you  should  go  to  Bassett  and 
in  course  of  time,  everything  running  smoothly,  he 
asked  you  to  do  something  that  jarred  with  those 
ideals  of  yours,  what  should  you  do?" 

"I  should  refuse,  sir,"  answered  Dan,  earnestly. 

Fitch  nodded  gravely. 

"Very  well;  then  I'd  say  go  ahead.  You  under 
stand  that  I  'm  not  predicting  that  such  a  moment 
is  inevitable,  but  it's  quite  possible.  I  '11  say  to  you 
what  I've  never  said  before  to  any  man:  I  don't 
understand  Morton  Bassett.  I've  known  him  for 
ten  years,  and  I  know  him  just  as  well  now  as  I  did 
the  day  I  first  met  him.  That  may  be  my  own  dull 
ness;  but  ignoring  all  that  his  enemies  say  of  him,  — 
and  he  has  some  very  industrious  ones,  as  you  know, 
—  he's  still,  at  his  best,  a  very  unusual  and  a  some 
what  peculiar  and  difficult  person." 

"He's  different,  at  least;  but  I  can't  think  him 
half  as  bad  as  they  say  he  is." 

"He  isn't,  probably,"  replied  Fitch,  whose  eyes 
were  contemplating  the  cornice  of  the  building  across 
the  street.  Then,  as  though  just  recalling  Dan's  pre- 

(165) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

sence:  "May  I  ask  you  whether,  aside  from  that 
'Courier'  article,  you  ever  consciously  served  Bas- 
sett  in  any  way  —  ever  did  anything  that  might  have 
caused  him  to  feel  that  he  was  under  obligations?" 

"Why,  no,  sir;  nothing  whatever." 

-  Or  -  'a  considerable  interval  in  which 
Fitch's  gaze  reverted  to  the  cornice  —  "that  you 
might  have  some  information  that  made  it  wise  for 
him  to  keep  his  hand  on  you?" 

"Absolutely  nothing,"  answered  Dan,  the  least 
bit  uncomfortable  under  this  questioning. 

"You're  not  aware,"  the  lawyer  persisted  de 
liberately,  "that  you  ever  had  any  dealings  of  any 
kind  even  remotely  with  Mr.  Bassett." 

"  No;  never,  beyond  what  I  fve  told  you." 

"Then,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  and  the  man  I 
think  you  are,  I  'd  accept  the  offer,  but  don't  bind 
yourself  for  a  long  period;  keep  your  mouth  shut 
and  hang  on  to  your  ideals,  --it's  rather  odd  that 
you  and  I  should  be  using  that  word ;  it  does  n't 
get  into  a  law  office  often.  If  you  feel  tempted  to 
do  things  that  you  know  are  crooked,  think  of  Billy 
Sumner,  and  act  accordingly.  It's  getting  to  be 
truer  all  the  time  that  few  of  us  are  free  men.  What's 
Shakespeare's  phrase?-  'bound  upon  a  wheel  of 
fire';  —  that,  Mr.  Harwood,  is  all  of  us.  We  have 
valuable  clients  in  this  office  that  we'd  lose  if  I  got 
out  and  shouted  my  real  political  convictions.  We  're 
all  cowards;  but  don't  you  be  one.  As  soon  as  I  'm 
sure  I  've  provided  for  my  family  against  the  day  of 
wrath  I  'm  going  to  quit  the  law  and  blow  the  dust  off 
of  some  of  my  own  ideals ;  it 's  thick,  I  can  tell  you ! ' ' 

(166) 


DANIEL  HARWOOD  RECEIVES  AN  OFFER 

This  was  seeing  Fitch  in  a  new  aspect.  Dan  was 
immensely  pleased  by  the  lawyer's  friendliness,  and 
he  felt  that  his  counsel  was  sound. 

Fitch  broke  in  on  the  young  man's  thoughts  to 
say:  — 

"By  the  way,  you  know  where  I  live?  Come  up 
and  dine  with  me  to-morrow  at  seven  if  you  're  free. 
My  folks  are  away  and  I  'd  like  to  swap  views  with 
you  on  politics,  religion,  baseball,  and  great  subjects 
like  that." 

Dan  wrote  his  acceptance  of  Bassett's  offer  that 
night. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN   THE   BOORDMAN   BUILDING 

HARWOOD  opened  the  office  in  the  Boord- 
man  Building,  and  settled  in  it  the  law 
books  Bassett  sent  from  Fraserville.  The 
lease  was  taken  in  Dan's  name,  and  he  paid  for  the 
furniture  with  his  own  check,  Bassett  having  given 
him  five  hundred  dollars  for  expenses.  The  Boord- 
man  was  one  of  the  older  buildings  in  Washington 
Street,  and  as  it  antedated  the  era  of  elevators,  only 
the  first  of  its  three  stories  was  occupied  by  offices. 
Its  higher  altitudes  had  fallen  to  miscellaneous  ten 
ants,  including  a  few  telegraph  operators,  printers, 
and  other  night  workers  who  lodged  there  for  con 
venience.  Dan's  immediate  neighbors  proved  to  be 
a  shabby  lawyer  who  concealed  by  a  professional 
exterior  his  real  vocation,  which  was  chattel  mort 
gages;  a  fire  insurance  agency  conducted  by  several 
active  young  fellows  of  Dan's  acquaintance;  and  the 
office  of  a  Pittsburg  firm  of  construction  contractors, 
presided  over  by  a  girl  who  answered  the  telephone 
if  haply  it  rang  at  moments  when  the  heroes  of  the 
novels  she  devoured  were  not  in  too  imminent  peril 
of  death. 

This  office  being  nearest,  Dan  went  in  to  borrow 
a  match  for  his  pipe  while  in  the  midst  of  his  moving 
and  found  the  girl  rearranging  her  hair  before  a  mirror. 

(168) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

''That's  as  near  heart  disease  as  I  tare  to  come," 
she  said,  turning  at  his  "Beg  pardon."  " There 
has  n't  been  a  man  in  this  place  for  two  weeks,  much 
less  a  woman.  Yes,  I  can  stake  you  for  a  match. 
I  keep  them  for  those  insurance  fellows  —  nice  boys 
they  are,  too.  You  see,"  she  continued,  not  averse 
to  prolonging  the  conversation,  "our  business  is 
mostly  outside.  Hear  about  the  sky-scraper  we're 
building  in  Elwood?  Three  stories!  One  of  the  best 
little  towns  in  Indiana,  all  right.  Say,  the  janitor 
service  in  this  old  ark  is  something  I  could  n't 
describe  to  a  gentleman.  If  there 's  anything  in  these 
microbe  fairy  stories  we'll  all  die  early.  You  might 
as  well  know  the  worst:  —  they  do  light  housekeep 
ing  on  the  third  floor  and  the  smell  of  onions  is  what 
I  call  annoying.  Oh,  that's  all  right;  what's  a  match 
between  friends !  The  last  man  who  had  your  office 
—  you've  taken  sixty-six?  —  well,  he  always  got 
his  matches  here,  and  touched  me  occasionally  for 
a  pink  photo  of  George  Washington  —  stamp,  ha! 
ha !  see !  He  was  real  nice  and  when  his  wife  dropped 
in  to  see  him  one  day  and  I  was  sitting  in  there  josh 
ing  him  and  carrying  on,  he  was  that  painfully  em 
barrassed!  I  guess  she  made  him  move;  but,  Lord, 
they  have  to  bribe  tenants  to  get  'em  in  here.  To 
crawl  up  one  flight  of  that  stairway  you  have  to  be 
a  mountain  climber.  I  only  stay  because  the  work 's 
so  congenial  and  it's  a  quiet  place  for  reading,  and 
all  the  processions  pass  here.  The  view  of  that  hair- 
dressing  shop  across  the  way  is  something  I  recom 
mend.  If  I  had  n't  studied  stenography  I  should 
have  taken  up  hairdressing  or  manicuring.  A  little 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

friend  of  mine  works  in  that  shop  and  the  society 
ladies  are  most  confidential.  I'm  Miss  Rose  Far- 
rell,  if  you  tease  me  to  tell.  You  need  n't  say  by  any 
other  name  it's  just  as  sweet  —  the  ruffle's  a  little 
frayed  on  that." 

Bassett  had  stipulated  that  his  name  should  not 
appear  and  he  suggested  that  Dan  place  his  own  on 
the  door.  Later,  when  he  had  been  admitted  to  the 
bar  it  would  be  easy  to  add  "  attorney  at  law,"  Bas 
sett  said.  Each  of  the  three  rooms  of  what  the  agent 
of  the  building  liked  to  call  a  suite  opened  directly 
into  the  hall.  In  the  first  Harwood  set  up  a  desk  for 
himself;  in  the  second  he  placed  the  library,  and  the 
third  and  largest  was  to  be  Bassett's  at  such  times 
as  he  cared  to  use  it.  Throughout  the  summer  Har 
wood  hardly  saw  Bassett,  and  he  began  to  regret 
his  reluctant  assent  to  a  relationship  which  con 
ferred  so  many  benefits  with  so  little  work.  He  dug 
hungrily  at  the  law,  and  felt  that  he  was  making 
progress.  Fitch,  who  was  braving  the  heat  in  town, 
had  outlined  a  course  of  reading  for  him,  and  con 
tinued  his  manifestations  of  friendliness  by  several 
times  asking  him  to  dinner,  with  a  motor  ride  later 
to  cool  them  off  before  going  to  bed. 

Bassett  kept  pretty  close  to  Fraserville,  running 
into  the  city  occasionally  for  a  few  hours.  He  com 
plained  now  and  then  because  he  saw  so  little  of  his 
family,  who  continued  at  the  lake.  Dan  had  certain 
prescribed  duties,  but  these  were  not  onerous.  A 
great  many  of  the  country  newspapers  began  to  come 
to  the  office,  and  it  was  Harwood 's  business  to  read 
them  and  cut  out  any  items  bearing  upon  local  po- 

(170) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN   BUILDING 

litical  conditions.  Bassett  winnowed  these  care 
fully,  brushing  the  chaff  into  his  wastebasket  and 
retaining  a  few  kernels  for  later  use.  He  seemed 
thoroughly  familiar  with  the  state  press  and  spoke 
of  the  rural  newspapers  with  a  respect  that  surprised 
Harwood,  who  had  little  patience  with  what  he 
called  the  "grapevine  dailies,"  with  their  scrappy 
local  news,  patent  insides,  and  servile  partisan 
opinions.  Still,  he  began  to  find  in  a  considerable 
number  of  these  papers,  even  those  emanating  from 
remote  county  seats,  a  certain  raciness  and  inde 
pendence.  This  newspaper  reading,  which  Dan  had 
begun  perfunctorily,  soon  interested  him.  It  was 
thus,  he  saw,  that  Bassett  kept  in  touch  with  state 
affairs.  Sporadic  temperance  movements,  squabbles 
over  local  improvements,  rows  in  school  boards,  and 
like  matters  were  not  beneath  Bassett's  notice.  He 
discussed  these  incidents  and  conditions  with  Har 
wood,  who  was  astonished  to  find  how  thoroughly 
Bassett  knew  the  state. 

Through  all  this  Dan  was  not  blind  to  the  sins 
charged  against  Bassett.  There  were  certain  corpora 
tions  which  it  was  said  Bassett  protected  from  vio 
lence  at  the  state  house.  But  as  against  this  did  not 
the  vast  horde  of  greedy  corporations  maintain  a 
lobby  at  every  session  and  was  not  a  certain  amount 
of  lobbying  legitimate?  Again,  Bassett  had  shielded 
the  liquor  interests  from  many  attacks;  but  had 
not  these  interests  their  rights,  and  was  it  not  a 
sound  doctrine  that  favored  government  with  the 
least  restraint?  Rather  uglier  had  been  Bassett's 
identification  with  the  organization  of  the  White 

(171) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

River  Canneries  Company,  a  combination  of  indus 
tries  on  which  a  scandalous  overissue  of  stock  had 
been  sold  in  generous  chunks  to  a  confiding  public, 
followed  in  a  couple  of  years  by  a  collapse  of  the 
business  and  a  reorganization  that  had  frozen  out  all 
but  a  favored  few.  Still,  Bassett  had  not  been  the  sole 
culprit  in  that  affair,  and  was  not  this  sort  of  finan 
ciering  typical  of  the  time?  Bassett  and  Thatcher 
had  both  played  the  gentle  game  of  freeze-out  in  half 
a  dozen  other  instances,  and  if  they  were  culpable, 
why  had  they  not  been  brought  to  book?  In  his 
inner  soul  Dan  knew  why  not:  in  the  bi-partisan 
political  game  only  the  stupid  are  annoyed  by  grand 
juries,  which  take  their  cue  tamely  from  ambitious 
prosecuting  attorneys  eager  for  higher  office. 

Bassett's  desk  stood  against  the  wall  and  over  it 
hung  a  map  of  Indiana.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  for 
Dan  to  find  Bassett  with  his  chair  tipped  back,  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  map.  The  oblong  checkerboard 
formed  by  the  ninety-two  counties  of  the  Hoosier 
commonwealth  seemed  to  have  a  fascination  for  the 
man  from  Fraserville.  When  Dan  found  him  thus 
in  rapt  contemplation  Bassett  usually  turned  toward 
him  a  little  reluctantly  and  absently.  It  was  thus 
that  Morton  Bassett  studied  the  field,  like  a  care 
ful  general  outlining  his  campaigns,  with  ample  data 
and  charts  before  him. 

This  was  an  "off"  year  politically,  or,  more  ac 
curately,  the  statutes  called  for  no  state  election  in 
Indiana.  For  every  one  knows  that  there  is  no  hour 
of  the  day  in  any  year  when  politics  wholly  cease 
from  agitating  the  waters  of  the  Wabash:  some- 

(172) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

where  some  one  is  always  dropping  in  a  pebble  to  see 
how  far  the  ripple  will  widen.  In  the  torrid  first 
days  of  September  the  malfeasance  of  the  treasurer 
of  an  Ohio  River  county  afforded  the  Republican 
press  an  opportunity  to  gloat,  the  official  in  question 
being,  of  course,  a  Democrat,  and  a  prominent  mem 
ber  of  the  state  committee. 

For  several  days  before  the  exposure  Bassett  had 
appeared  fitfully  at  the  Whitcomb  and  in  the  Boord- 
man  Building.  On  the  day  that  the  Republican  "  Ad 
vertiser"  screamed  delightedly  over  the  Democratic 
scandal  in  Ranger  County,  Bassett  called  Dan  into 
his  office.  Bassett's  name  had  been  linked  to  that  of 
Miles,  the  erring  treasurer,  in  the  "Advertiser's" 
headlines;  and  its  leading  editorial  had  pointed  to  the 
defalcation  as  the  sort  of  thing  that  inevitably  fol 
lows  the  domination  of  a  party  by  a  spoilsman  and 
corruptionist  like  the  senator  from  Eraser. 

Bassett  indicated  by  a  nod  a  copy  of  the  "Adver 
tiser"  on  his  desk. 

"The  joke  was  on  us  this  time.  They're  pinning 
Miles  on  me,  and  I  guess  I  '11  have  to  wear  him  like 
a  bouquet.  I  've  been  in  Louisville  fixing  this  thing 
up  and  they  won't  have  as  much  fun  as  they  thought. 
It's  a  simple  case:  Miles  had  n't  found  out  yet  that 
corn  margins  are  not  legitimate  investments  for  a 
county's  money.  He's  a  good  fellow  and  will  know 
better  next  time.  We  could  n't  afford  to  have  a 
member  of  the  state  committee  in  jail,  so  I  met  the 
bondsmen  and  the  prosecuting  attorney  —  he 's  a 
Republican  —  in  Louisville  and  we  straightened  it 
all  out.  The  money 's  in  bank  down  there.  It  proves 

(173) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

to  be  after  all  a  matter  of  bookkeeping,  —  technical 
differences,  which  were  reconciled  readily  enough. 
Miles  got  scared;  those  fellows  always  do.  He'll 
be  good  now." 

Dan  had  been  standing.  Bassett  pointed  to  a  chair. 

"  I  want  you  to  write  an  interview  with  me  on  this 
case,  laying  emphasis  on  the  fact  that  the  trouble 
was  all  due  to  an  antiquated  system  of  keeping  the 
accounts,  which  Miles  inherited  from  his  predeces 
sors  in  office.  The  president  of  the  bank  and  the 
prosecutor  have  prepared  statements,  —  I  have  them 
in  my  pocket,  —  and  I  want  you  to  get  all  the  pub 
licity  you  know  how  for  these  things.  Let  me  see. 
In  my  interview  you'd  better  lay  great  stress  on  the 
imperative  need  for  a  uniform  accounting  law  for 
county  officials.  Say  that  we  expect  to  stand  for  this 
in  our  next  platform ;  make  it  strong.  Have  me  say 
that  this  incident  in  Ranger  County,  while  regret 
table,  will  serve  a  good  purpose  if  it  arouses  the 
minds  of  the  people  to  the  importance  of  chang 
ing  the  old  unsatisfactory  method  of  bookkeeping 
that  so  frequently  leads  perfectly  trustworthy  and 
well-meaning  officials  into  error.  Do  you  get  the 
idea?" 

"Yes;  perfectly,"  Dan  replied.  " As  I  understand 
it,  Miles  is  n't  guilty,  but  you  would  take  advantage 
of  the  agitation  to  show  the  necessity  for  reform." 

"Exactly.  And  while  you're  about  it,  write 
a  vigorous  editorial  for  the  'Courier,'  on  the  same 
line,  and  a  few  ironical  squibs  based  on  the  eager 
ness  of  the  Republican  papers  to  see  all  Democrats 
through  black  goggles."  The  humor  showed  inBas- 

(174) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

sett's  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  he  added:  "Praise 
the  Republican  prosecutor  of  Ranger  County  for 
refusing  to  yield  to  partisan  pressure  and  take  ad 
vantage  of  a  Democrat's  mistakes  of  judgment.  He 's 
a  nice  fellow  and  we've  got  to  be  good  to  him." 

This  was  the  first  task  of  importance  that  Bassett 
had  assigned  to  him  and  Dan  addressed  himself  to  it 
zealously.  If  Miles  was  not  really  a  defaulter  there 
was  every  reason  why  the  heinous  aspersions  of  the 
opposition  press  should  be  dealt  with  vigorously. 
Dan  was  impressed  by  Bassett's  method  of  deal 
ing  with  a  difficult  situation.  Miles  had  erred,  but 
Bassett  had  taken  the  matter  in  hand  promptly, 
secretly,  and  effectively.  His  attitude  toward  the 
treasurer's  sin  was  tolerant  and  amiable.  Miles  had 
squandered  money  in  bucket-shop  gambling,  but 
the  sin  was  not  uncommon,  and  the  amount  of  his 
loss  was  sufficient  to  assure  his  penitence ;  he  was  an 
ally  of  Bassett's  and  it  was  Bassett's  way  to  take 
care  of  his  friends.  Bassett  had  not  denied  that  the 
culprit  had  been  guilty  of  indiscretions;  but  he  had 
minimized  the  importance  of  his  error  and  adorned 
the  tale  with  a  moral  on  which  Dan  set  about  laying 
the  greatest  emphasis.  He  enjoyed  writing,  and  in 
the  interview  he  attributed  ideas  to  Bassett  that 
would  have  been  creditable  to  the  most  idealistic 
of  statesmen.  He  based  the  editorial  Bassett  had 
suggested  upon  the  interview;  and  he  wrote  half  a 
dozen  editorial  paragraphs  in  a  vein  of  caustic 
humor  that  the  "Courier"  affected.  In  the  after 
noon  he  copied  his  articles  on  a  typewriter  and  sub 
mitted  them  to  Bassett. 

(175) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Good ;  very  good.  Too  bad  to  take  you  out  of  the 
newspaper  business ;  you  have  the  right  point  of  view 
and  you  know  how  to  get  hold  of  the  right  end  of  a 
sentence.  Let  me  see.  I  wish  you  would  do  another 
interview  changing  the  phraseology  and  making  it 
short,  and  we'll  give  the  'Advertiser*  a  chance  to 
print  it.  I'll  attend  to  these  other  things.  You'd 
better  not  be  running  into  the  '  Courier '  office  too 
much  now  that  you're  with  me.  They  have  n't  got 
on  to  that  yet,  but  they'll  give  us  a  twist  when  they 
do." 

Dan  had  been  admitted  to  the  ante-chamber  of 
Bassett's  confidence,  but  he  was  to  be  permitted  to 
advance  a  step  further.  At  four  o'clock  he  was  sur 
prised  by  the  appearance  of  Atwill,  the  "Courier's" 
manager.  Dan  had  no  acquaintance  with  Atwill, 
whose  advent  had  been  coincident  with  the  "Cour 
ier's"  change  of  ownership  shortly  after  Dan's  ten 
tative  connection  with  the  paper  began.  Atwill  had 
rarely  visited  the  editorial  department,  but  it  was 
no  secret  that  he  exercised  general  supervision  of  the 
paper.  It  had  been  whispered  among  the  reporters 
that  every  issue  was  read  carefully  in  proof  by  Atwill, 
but  Dan  had  never  been  particularly  interested  in 
this  fact.  As  Atwill  appeared  in  the  outer  office, 
Bassett  came  from  his  own  room  to  meet  him.  The 
door  closed  quickly  upon  the  two  and  they  were  to 
gether  for  half  an  hour  or  more.  Then  Bassett  sum 
moned  Dan. 

"Mr.  Atwill,  this  is  Mr.  Harwood.  He  was  form 
erly  employed  on  the '  Courier.'  It  was  he  that  wrote 
up  the  Hoosier  statesmen,  you  may  remember." 

(176) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

Atwill  nodded. 

"I  remember  very  well.  Those  articles  helped 
business,  —  we  could  follow  your  pencil  up  and  down 
the  state  on  our  circulation  reports.  I  jumped  the 
city  editor  for  letting  you  go." 

Atwill  was  a  lean,  clean-shaven  man  wrho  chewed 
gum  hungrily.  His  eyes  were  noticeably  alert  and 
keen.  There  was  a  tradition  that  he  had  been  a 
"star"  reporter  in  New  York,  a  managing  editor 
in  Pittsburg,  and  a  business  manager  in  Minneapolis 
before  coming  to  supervise  the  "  Courier"  for  its  new 
owner. 

"Atwill,  you  and  Harwood  had  better  keep  in 
touch  with  each  other.  Harwood  is  studying  law 
here,  but  he  will  know  pretty  well  what  I  'm  doing. 
He  will  probably  write  an  editorial  for  you  occa 
sionally,  and  when  it  comes  in  it  won't  be  necessary 
for  the  regular  employees  of  the  'Courier'  to  know 
where  it  comes  from.  Harwood  won't  mind  if  they 
take  all  the  glory  for  his  work." 

When  Atwill  left,  Bassett  talked  further  to  Har 
wood,  throwing  his  legs  across  a  chair  and  showing 
himself  more  at  ease  than  Dan  had  yet  seen  him. 

"Harwood,"  he  said,  —  he  had  dropped  the 
mister  to-day  for  the  first  time  in  their  intercourse, — 
"  I  've  opened  the  door  wider  to  you  than  I  ever  did 
before  to  any  man.  I  trust  you." 

"I  appreciate  that,  Mr.  Bassett." 

"I've  been  carrying  too  much,  and  it's  a  relief 
to  find  that  I've  got  a  man  I  can  unload  on.  You 
understand,  I  trust  you  absolutely.  And  in  coming 
to  me  as  you  did,  and  accepting  these  confidences, 

(177) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

I  assume  that  you  don't  think  me  as  wicked  as  my 
enemies  make  me  out." 

"I  liked  you,"  said  Dan,  with  real  feeling,  "from 
that  moment  you  shook  hands  with  me  in  your  house 
at  Fraserville.  When  I  don't  believe  in  you  any 
longer,  I'll  quit;  and  if  that  time  comes  you  may 
be  sure  that  I  shan't  traffic  in  what  I  learn  of  your 
affairs.  I  feel  that  I  want  to  say  that  to  you." 

"That's  all  right,  Harwood.  I  hope  our  relations 
will  be  increasingly  friendly;  but  if  you  want  to  quit 
at  any  time  you  're  not  tied.  Be  sure  of  that.  If  you 
should  quit  me  to-morrow  I  should  be  disappointed 
but  I  would  n't  kick.  And  don't  build  up  any  quix 
otic  ideas  of  gratitude  toward  me.  When  you  don't 
like  your  job,  move  on.  I  guess  we  understand  each 
other." 

If  Dan  entertained  any  doubts  as  to  the  ethics 
involved  in  Bassett's  handling  of  the  situation  in 
Ranger  County  they  were  swept  away  by  the  per 
fect  candor  with  which  Bassett  informed  their  new 
intimacy.  The  most  interesting  and  powerful  char 
acter  in  Indiana  politics  had  made  a  confidant  of 
him.  Without  attempting  to  exact  vows  of  secrecy, 
or  threatening  vengeance  for  infractions  of  faith,  but 
in  a  spirit  of  good-fellowship  that  appealed  strongly 
to  Harwood,  Bassett  had  given  him  a  pass-key  to 
many  locked  doors. 

"As  you  probably  gathered,"  Bassett  was  saying, 
"Atwill  represents  me  at  the  'Courier'  office." 

"I  had  never  suspected  it,"  Dan  replied. 

"Has  anybody  suspected  it?"  asked  Bassett 
quickly. 

(178) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

"Well;  of  course  it  has  been  said  repeatedly  that 
you  own  or  control  the  'Courier." 

"Let  them  keep  on  saying  it;  they  might  have 
hard  work  to  prove  it.  And  —  "  Bassett's  eyes 
turned  toward  the  window.  His  brows  contracted 
and  he  shut  his  lips  tightly  so  that  his  stiff  mustache 
gave  to  his  mouth  a  sinister  look  that  Dan  had  never 
seen  before.  The  disagreeable  expression  vanished 
and  he  was  his  usual  calm,  unruffled  self.  "And," 
he  concluded,  smiling,  "I  might  have  some  trouble 
in  proving  it  myself." 

Dan  was  not  only  accumulating  valuable  informa 
tion,  but  Bassett  interested  him  more  and  more  as 
a  character.  He  was  an  unusual  man,  a  new  type, 
this  senator  from  Fraser,  with  his  alternating  can 
dor  and  disingenuousness,  his  prompt  solutions  of 
perplexing  problems.  It  was  unimaginable  that  a 
man  so  strong  and  so  sure  of  himself,  and  so  shrewd 
in  extricating  others  from  their  entanglements,  could 
ever  be  cornered,  trapped,  or  beaten. 

Bassett's  hands  had  impressed  Dan  that  first 
night  at  Fraserville,  and  he  watched  them  again  as 
Bassett  idly  twisted  a  rubber  band  in  his  fingers.  How 
gentle  those  hands  were  and  how  cruel  they  might 
be! 

The  next  morning  Dan  found  that  his  interview 
with  Bassett  was  the  feature  of  the  first  page  of  the 
"Courier,"  and  the  statement  he  had  sent  to  the 
"Advertiser"  was  hardly  less  prominently  displayed. 
His  editorial  was  the  "Courier's"  leader,  and  it  ap 
peared  verbatim  et  literatim.  He  viewed  his  work 
with  pride  and  satisfaction ;  even  his  ironical  editorial 

(179) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"briefs"  had,  he  fancied,  something  of  the  piquancy 
he  admired  in  the  paragraphing  of  the  "New  York 
Sun."  But  his  gratification  at  being  able  to  write 
"must"  matter  for  both  sides  of  a  prominent  journal 
was  obscured  by  the  greater  joy  of  being  the  chief  ad 
jutant  of  the  "Courier's"  sagacious  concealed  owner. 
The  "Advertiser"  replied  to  Bassett's  statement 
in  a  tone  of  hilarity.  Bassett's  plea  for  a  better  ac 
counting  system  was  funny,  that  was  all.  Miles,  the 
treasurer  of  Ranger  County,  had  been  playing  the 
bucket  shops  with  public  moneys,  and  the  Honor 
able  Morton  Bassett,  of  Fraserville,  with  character 
istic  zeal  in  a  bad  cause,  had  not  only  adjusted  the 
shortage,  but  was  craftily  trying  to  turn  the  inci 
dent  to  the  advantage  of  his  party.  The  text  for  the 
"Advertiser's"  leader  was  the  jingle:  — 

"When  the  devil  was  sick,  the  devil  a  monk  would  be; 
When  the  devil  got  well,  the  devil  a  monk  was  he!" 

Bassett  had  left  town,  but  the  regular  staff  of  the 
"Courier"  kept  up  the  fight  along  the  lines  of  the 
articles  Dan  had  contributed.  The  "Advertiser," 
finding  that  the  Republican  prosecuting  attorney 
of  Ranger  County  joined  with  the  local  bank  in  cer 
tifying  to  Miles's  probity,  dropped  the  matter  after 
a  few  scattering  volleys. 

However,  within  a  week  after  the  Miles  incident, 
the  "Advertiser"  gave  Harwood  the  shock  of  an 
unlooked-for  plunge  into  ice-water  by  printing  a  sen 
sational  story  under  a  double-column  headline, 
reading,  "The  Boss  in  the  Boordman  Building." 
The  Honorable  Morton  Bassett,  so  the  article 

(180) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

averred,  no  longer  satisfied  to  rule  his  party  amid  the 
pastoral  calm  of  Fraser  County,  had  stolen  into  the 
capital  and  secretly  established  headquarters,  which 
meant,  beyond  question,  the  manifestation  of  even 
a  wider  exercise  of  his  malign  influence  in  Indiana 
politics.  Harwood's  name  enjoyed  a  fame  that  day 
that  many  years  of  laborious  achievement  could  not 
have  won  for  it.  The  "Advertiser's"  photographers 
had  stolen  in  at  night  and  taken  a  flashlight  picture 
of  the  office  door,  bearing  the  legend 

66 
DANIEL  HARWOOD 

Harwood's  personal  history  was  set  forth  in  florid 
phrases.  It  appeared  that  he  had  been  carefully 
chosen  and  trained  by  Bassett  to  aid  in  his  evil 
work.  His  connection  with  the  "Courier,"  which 
had  seemed  to  Dan  at  the  time  so  humble,  assumed 
a  dignity  and  importance  that  highly  amused  him. 
It  was  quite  like  the  Fraserville  boss  to  choose  a 
young  man  of  good  antecedents,  the  graduate  of  a 
great  university,  with  no  previous  experience  in 
politics,  the  better  to  bend  him  to  his  will.  Dan's 
talents  and  his  brilliant  career  at  college  all  helped 
to  magnify  the  importance  of  Bassett's  latest  move. 
Morton  Bassett  was  dangerous,  the  "Advertiser" 
conceded  editorially,  because  he  had  brains;  and 
he  was  even  more  to  be  feared  because  he  could 
command  the  brains  of  other  men. 

Dan  called  Bassett  at  Fraserville  on  the  long  dis- 
(181) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

tance  telephone  and  told  him  of  the  disclosure. 
Bassett  replied  in  a  few  sentences. 

"That  won't  hurt  anything.  I'd  been  expecting 
something  of  the  kind.  Put  you  in,  did  they?  I  '11 
get  my  paper  to-night  and  read  it  carefully.  Better 
cut  the  stuff  out  and  send  it  in  an  envelope,  to  make 
sure.  Call  Atwill  over  and  tell  him  we  ignore  the 
whole  business.  I  'm  taking  a  little  rest,  but  I  '11  be 
in  town  in  about  a  week." 

Dan  was  surprised  to  find  how  bitterly  he  re 
sented  the  attack  on  Bassett.  The  "Advertiser" 
spoke  of  the  leader  as  though  he  were  a  monster  of 
immorality  and  Dan  honestly  believed  Bassett  to 
be  no  such  thing.  His  loyalty  was  deeply  intensified 
by  the  hot  volleys  poured  into  the  Boordman  Build 
ing;  but  he  was  not  disturbed  by  the  references  to 
himself.  He  winced  a  little  bit  at  being  called  a 
"stool  pigeon " ;  but  he  thought  he  knew  the  reporter 
who  had  written  the  article,  and  his  experience  in 
the  newspaper  office  had  not  been  so  brief  but  that 
it  had  killed  his  layman's  awe  of  the  printed  word. 
When  he  walked  into  the  Whitcomb  that  evening 
the  clerk  made  a  point  of  calling  his  name  and  shak 
ing  hands  with  him.  He  was  conscious  that  a  num 
ber  of  idlers  in  the  hotel  lobby  regarded  him  with  a 
new  interest.  Some  one  spoke  his  name  audibly, 
and  he  enjoyed  in  some  degree  the  sensation  of  being 
a  person  of  mark. 

He  crossed  University  Square  and  walked  out 
Meridian  Street  to  Fitch's  house.  The  lawyer  came 
downstairs  in  his  shirt  sleeves  with  a  legal  envelope 
in  his  hand. 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Harwood.  I'm  packing  up; 
going  to  light  out  in  the  morning  and  get  in  on  the 
end  of  my  family's  vacation.  They  've  moved  out 
of  Maine  into  the  Berkshires  and  the  boys  are  going 
back  to  college  without  coming  home.  I  see  the 
'Advertiser'  has  been  after  you.  How  do  you  like 
your  job?" 

"I'm  not  scared,"  Dan  replied.  "It's  all  very 
amusing  and  my  moral  character  has  n't  suffered 
so  far." 

Fitch  eyed  him  critically. 

"Well,  I  have  n't  time  to  talk  to  you,  but  here's 
something  I  wish  you'd  do  for  me.  I  have  a  quit 
claim  deed  for  Mrs.  Owen  to  sign.  I  forgot  to  tell  one 
of  the  boys  in  the  office  to  get  her  acknowledgment, 
but  you're  a  notary,  are  n't  you?  I've  just  been 
telephoning  her  about  it.  You  know  who  she  is? 
Come  to  think  of  it,  she's  Bassett's  aunt-in-law. 
You  're  not  a  good  Hoosier  till  you  know  Aunt  Sally. 
I  advise  you  to  make  yourself  solid  with  her.  I  don't 
know  what  she's  doing  in  town  just  now,  but  her 
ways  are  always  inscrutable." 

Dan  was  soon  ringing  the  bell  at  Mrs.  Owen's. 
Mrs.  Owen  was  out,  the  maid  said,  but  would  be 
back  shortly.  Dan  explained  that  he  had  come  from 
Mr.  Fitch,  and  she  asked  him  to  walk  into  the  parlor 
and  wait. 

Sylvia  Garrison  and  her  grandfather  had  been  at 
Montgomery  since  their  visit  to  Waupegan  and  were 
now  in  Indianapolis  for  a  day  on  their  way  to  Bos 
ton.  The  Delaware  Street  house  had  been  closed  all 
summer.  The  floors  were  bare  and  the  furniture 

(183) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

was  still  jacketed  in  linen.  Sylvia  rose  as  Harwood 
appeared  at  the  parlor  door. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Dan,  as  the  maid  vanished. 
"I  have  an  errand  with  Mrs.  Owen  and  I'll  wait, 
if  you  don't  mind?" 

"  Certainly.  Mrs.  Owen  has  gone  out  to  make  a 
call,  but  she  will  be  back  soon.  She  went  only  a 
little  way  down  the  street.  Please  have  a  chair." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  not  knowing  whether 
to  remain  or  to  leave  the  young  man  to  himself.  Dan 
determined  the  matter  for  her  by  opening  a  conver 
sation  on  the  state  of  the  weather. 

"September  is  the  most  trying  month  of  the  year. 
Just  when  we're  all  tired  of  summer,  it  takes  its  last 
fling  at  us." 

"It  has  been  very  warm.  I  came  over  from  Mont 
gomery  this  afternoon  and  it  was  very  dusty  and 
disagreeable  on  the  train." 

"From  Montgomery?"  repeated  Dan,  surprised 
and  perplexed.  Then,  as  it  dawned  upon  him  that 
this  was  the  girl  who  had  opened  the  door  for  him 
at  Professor  Kelton's  house  in  Montgomery  when 
he  had  gone  there  with  a  letter  from  Fitch,  "You 
see,"  he  said,  "we've  met  before,  in  your  own  house. 
You  very  kindly  went  off  to  find  some  one  for  me  — 
and  did  n't  come  back;  but  I  passed  you  on  the 
campus  as  I  was  leaving." 

He  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  the  name  of  the 
old  gentleman  to  whom  he  had  borne  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Fitch.  He  would  have  forgotten  the  incident 
completely  long  ago  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  curious 
manner  in  which  the  lawyer  had  received  his  report 

(184) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

and  the  secrecy  so  carefully  enjoined.  It  was  odd  that 
he  should  have  chanced  upon  these  people  again. 
Dan  did  not  know  many  women,  young  or  old,  and 
he  found  this  encounter  with  Sylvia  wholly  agree 
able,  Sylvia  being,  as  we  know,  seventeen,  and  not 
an  offense  to  the  eye. 

"It  was  my  grandfather,  Professor  Kelton,  you 
came  to  see.  He's  here  with  me  now,  but  he's  gone 
out  to  call  on  an  old  friend  with  Mrs.  Owen." 

Every  detail  of  Dan's  visit  to  the  cottage  was 
clear  in  Sylvia's  mind;  callers  had  been  too  rare  for 
there  to  be  any  dimness  of  memory  as  to  the  visit 
of  the  stranger,  particularly  when  she  had  associated 
her  grandfather's  subsequent  depression  with  his 
coming. 

Dan  felt  that  he  should  scrupulously  avoid  touch 
ing  upon  the  visit  to  Montgomery  otherwise  than 
casually.  He  was  still  bound  in  all  honor  to  forget 
that  excursion  as  far  as  possible.  This  young  person 
seemed  very  serious,  and  he  was  not  sure  that  she 
was  comfortable  in  his  presence. 

"It  was  a  warm  day,  I  remember,  but  cool  and 
pleasant  in  your  library.  I  'm  going  to  make  a  con 
fession.  When  you  wrent  off  so  kindly  to  find  Profes 
sor  Kelton  I  picked  up  the  book  you  had  been  read 
ing,  and  it  quite  laid  me  low.  I  had  imagined  it 
would  be  something  cheerful  and  frivolous,  to  lift  the 
spirit  of  the  jaded  traveler." 

"It  must  have  been  a  good  story,"  replied  Sylvia, 
guardedly. 

"It  was!  It  was  the  ^^Eneid,'  and  I  began  at 
your  bookmark  and  tried  to  stagger  through  a  page, 

(185) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

but  it  floored  me.  You  see  how  frank  I  am;  I  ought 
really  to  have  kept  this  terrible  disclosure  from  you." 

"Did  n't  you  like  Madison?    I  remember  that  I 
thought  you  were  comparing  us  unfavorably  with 
other  places.   You  implied'*    -  and  Sylvia  smiled  - 
"that  you  did  n't  think  Madison  a  very  important 
college." 

"Then  be  sure  of  my  contrition  now!  Your  Virgil 
sank  deep  into  my  consciousness,  and  I  am  glad  of 
this  chance  to  render  unto  Madison  the  things  that 
are  Madison's." 

His  chaffing  way  reminded  her  of  Dr.  Wandless, 
who  often  struck  a  similar  note  in  their  encounters. 

Sylvia  was  quite  at  ease  now.  Her  caller's  smile 
encouraged  friendliness.  He  had  dropped  his  fed 
ora  hat  on  a  chair,  but  clung  to  his  bamboo  stick. 
His  gray  sack  suit  with  the  trousers  neatly  creased 
and  his  smartly  knotted  tie  proclaimed  him  a  man 
of  fashion:  the  newest  and  youngest  member  of  the 
Madison  faculty,  who  had  introduced  spats  to  the 
campus,  was  not  more  impressively  tailored. 

"You  said  you  had  gone  to  a  large  college;  and 
I  said  —  " 

"Oh,  you  hit  me  back  straight  enough!"  laughed 
Harwood. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  be  rude,"  Sylvia  protested, 
coloring. 

They  evidently  both  remembered  what  had  been 
said  at  that  interview. 

"  It  wasn't  rude;  it  was  quite  the  retort  courteous! 
My  conceit  at  being  a  Yale  man  was  shattered  by 
your  shot." 

(i  86) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN   BUILDING 

"Well,  I  suppose  Yale  is  a  good  place,  too,"  said 
Sylvia,  with  a  generous  intention  that  caused  them 
both  to  laugh. 

"By  token  of  your  Virgilian  diversions  shall  I 
assume  that  you  are  a  collegian,  really  or  almost?" 

"Just  almost.     I  'm  on  my  way  to  Wellesley  now." 

"Ah ! "  and  his  exclamation  was  heavy  with  mean 
ing.  A  girl  bound  for  college  became  immediately 
an  integer  with  which  a  young  man  who  had  not 
yet  mislaid  his  diploma  could  reckon.  "I  have 
usually  been  a  supporter  of  Vassar.  It's  the  only 
woman's  college  I  ever  attended.  I  went  up  there 
once  to  see  a  girl  I  had  met  at  a  Prom  —  such  is  the 
weakness  of  man !  I  had  arrayed  myself  as  the  lilies 
of  the  field,  and  on  my  way  through  Pokip  I  gathered 
up  a  beautiful  two-seated  trap  with  a  driver,  think 
ing  in  my  ignorance  that  I  should  make  a  big  hit  by 
driving  the  fair  one  over  the  hills  and  far  away.  The 
horses  were  wonderful;  I  found  out  later  that  they 
were  the  finest  hearse  horses  in  Poughkeepsie.  She 
was  an  awfully  funny  girl,  that  girl.  She  always 
used  both  'shall'  and  'will,'  being  afraid  to  take 
chances  with  either  verb,  an  idea  I  'm  often  tempted 
to  adopt  myself." 

"It's  ingenious,  at  any  rate.  But  how  did  the 
drive  go?" 

"Oh,  it  did  n't!  She  said  she  could  n't  go  with  me 
alone  unless  I  was  or  were  her  cousin.  It  was  against 
the  rules.  So  we  agreed  to  be  cousins  and  she  went 
off  to  find  the  dean  or  some  awful  autocrat  like  that, 
to  spring  the  delightful  surprise,  that  her  long-lost 
cousin  from  Kalamazoo  had  suddenly  appeared,  and 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

might  she  go  driving  with  him.  That  was  her  idea, 
I  assure  you,  —  my  own  depravity  could  suggest 
nothing  more  euphonious  than  Canajoharie.  And 
would  you  believe  it,  the  consent  being  forthcoming, 
she  came  back  and  said  she  would  n't  go  —  abso 
lutely  declined !  She  rested  on  the  fine  point  in  ethics 
that,  while  it  was  not  improper  to  tell  the  fib,  it 
would  be  highly  sinful  to  take  advantage  of  it!  So 
we  strolled  over  the  campus  and  she  showed  me  the 
sights,  while  those  funeral  beasts  champed  their  bits 
at  so  much  per  hour.  She  was  a  Connecticut  girl, 
and  I  made  a  note  of  the  incident  as  illustrating  a 
curious  phase  of  the  New  England  conscience." 

While  they  were  gayly  ringing  the  changes  on 
these  adventures,  steps  sounded  on  the  veranda. 

'That's  Mrs.  Owen  and  my  grandfather,"  said 
Sylvia. 

"I  wonder — "  began  Dan,  grave  at  once. 

"You're  wondering,"  said  Sylvia,  "whether  my 
grandfather  will  remember  you." 

She  recalled  very  well  her  grandfather's  unusual 
seriousness  after  Harwood's  visit;  it  seemed  wiser 
not  to  bring  the  matter  again  to  his  attention. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  if  he  did  n't,"  replied 
Dan,  relieved  that  she  had  anticipated  his  thought. 
11 1  was  only  a  messenger  boy  anyhow  and  I  did  n't 
know  what  my  errand  was  about  that  day." 

"He  doesn't  remember  faces  well,"  said  Sylvia, 
"and  would  n't  be  likely  to  know  you." 

As  Mrs.  Owen  asked  Dan  to  her  office  at  once,  it 
was  unnecessary  for  Sylvia  to  introduce  him  to  her 
grandfather. 

(188) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

Alone  with  Mrs.  Owen,  Dan's  business  was  quickly 
transacted.  She  produced  an  abstract  of  title  and 
bade  him  read  aloud  the  description  of  the  property 
conveyed  while  she  held  the  deed.  At  one  point  she 
took  a  pen  and  crossed  a  / ;  otherwise  the  work  of 
Wright  and  Fitch  \vas  approved.  When  she  had 
signed  her  name,  and  while  Dan  was  filling  in  the 
certificate,  she  scrutinized  him  closely. 

"  You  're  in  Mr.  Fitch's  office,  are  you?"  she  in 
quired. 

"Not  now;  but  I  was  there  for  a  time.  I  happened 
to  call  on  Mr.  Fitch  this  evening  and  he  asked  me  to 
bring  the  deed  over." 

"Let  me  see,  I  don't  believe  I  know  any  Harwoods 
here." 

"  I  have  n't  been  here  long  enough  to  be  known," 
answered  Dan,  looking  up  and  smiling. 

Mrs.  Owen  removed  her  hat  and  tossed  it  on  a 
little  stand,  as  though  hats  were  a  nuisance  in  this 
world  and  not  worthy  of  serious  consideration.  She 
continued  her  observation  of  Dan,  who  was  apply 
ing  a  blotter  to  his  signature. 

"I'll  have  to  take  this  to  my  office  to  affix  the 
seal.  I  'm  to  give  it  to  Mr.  Wright  in  the  morning 
for  recording." 

"Where  is  your  office,  Mr.  Harwood?"  she  asked 
flatly. 

"Boordman  Building,"  answered  Dan,  surprised 
to  find  himself  uncomfortable  under  her  direct,  pen 
etrating  gaze. 

"Humph!  So  you're  Morton  Bassett's  young 
man  who  was  written  up  in  the  'Advertiser." 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Mr.  Bassett  has  given  me  a  chance  to  read  law 
in  his  office.  He's  a  prominent  man  and  the  'Adver 
tiser'  chose  to  put  its  own  interpretation  on  his 
kindness  to  me.  That's  all,"  answered  Dan  with 
dignity. 

"Sit  still  a  minute.  I  forget  sometimes  that  all 
the  folks  around  here  don't  know  me.  I  did  n't 
mean  to  be  inquisitive,  or  disagreeable;  I  was  just 
looking  for  information.  I  took  notice  of  that  'Ad 
vertiser's'  piece  because  Mr.  Bassett  married  my 
niece,  so  I'm  naturally  interested  in  what  he  does." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Owen,  I  understand." 

Dan  had  heard  a  good  deal  about  Mrs.  Sally  Owen, 
in  one  way  or  another,  and  persuaded  now,  by  her 
change  of  tone,  that  she  had  no  intention  of  pillorying 
him  for  Bassett's  misdeeds,  he  began  to  enjoy  his 
unexpected  colloquy  with  her.  She  bent  forward  and 
clasped  her  veined,  bony  hands  on  the  table. 

"  I  'm  glad  of  a  chance  to  talk  to  you.  It's  provi 
dential,  your  turning  up  this  way.  I  just  came  to 
town  yesterday  and  Edward  Thatcher  dropped  in 
last  night  and  got  to  talking  to  me  about  his  boy." 

"Allen?" 

Dan  was  greatly  surprised  at  this  turn  of  the  con 
versation.  Mrs.  Owen's  tone  was  wholly  kind,  and 
she  seemed  deeply  in  earnest. 

"Yes,  I  mean  Allen  Thatcher.  His  father  says 
he's  taken  a  great  shine  to  you.  I  hardly  know  the 
boy,  but  he's  a  little  queer  and  he's  always  been  a 
little  sickly.  Edward  does  n't  know  how  to  handle 
him,  and  the  boy's  ma  —  well,  she's  one  of  those 
Terre  Haute  Bartlows,  and  those  people  never  would 

(190) 


IN  THE  BOORDMAN  BUILDING 

stay  put.  Edward's  made  too  much  money  for  his 
wife's  good,  and  the  United  States  ain't  big  enough 
for  her  and  the  girls.  But  that  boy  got  tired  o' 
gallivanting  around  over  there,  and  he 's  back  here  on 
Edward's  hands.  The  boy's  gaits  are  too  much  for 
Edward.  He  says  you  and  Allen  get  on  well  together. 
I  met  him  in  the  bank  to-day  and  he  asked  me  about 
you." 

"  I  like  Allen;  —  I  'm  even  very  fond  of  him,  and  I 
wish  I  could  help  him  find  himself.  He's  amusing'1 
—  and  Dan  laughed,  remembering  their  first  meet 
ing —  "but  with  a  fine,  serious,  manly  side  that  you 
can't  help  liking." 

"That's  nice;  it's  mighty  nice.  You  be  good  to 
that  boy,  and  you  won't  lose  anything  by  it.  How  do 
you  and  Morton  get  on?" 

"First-rate,  I  hope.  He's  treated  me  gener 
ously." 

Then  she  fastened  her  eyes  upon  him  with  quizzi 
cal  severity. 

"Young  man,  the  'Advertiser'  seems  to  think 
Morton  Bassett  is  crooked.  What  do  you  think 
about  it?" 

Dan  gasped  and  stammered  at  this  disconcerting 
question. 

She  rested  her  arms  on  the  table  and  bent  toward 
him,  the  humor  showing  in  her  eyes. 

"  If  he  is  crooked,  young  man,  you  need  n't  think 
you  have  to  be  as  big  a  sinner  as  he  is !  You  remem 
ber  that  Sally  Owen  told  you  that.  Be  your  own 
boss.  Morton's  a  terrible  persuader.  Funny  for  me 
to  be  talking  to  you  this  way;  I  don't  usually  get 

" 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

confidential  so  quick.  I  guess"  -and  her  eyes 
twinkled-  "we'll  have  to  consider  ourselves  old 
friends  to  make  it  right." 

"You  are  very  kind,  indeed,  Mrs.  Owen.  I  see 
that  I  have  a  responsibility  about  Allen.  I  '11  keep 
an  eye  on  him. 

11  Drop  in  now  and  then.  I  eat  a  good  many  Sun 
day  dinners  alone  when  I  'm  at  home,  and  you  may 
come  whenever  you  feel  like  facing  a  tiresome  old 
woman  across  the  table." 

She  followed  him  into  the  hall,  where  they  ran  into 
Sylvia,  who  had  been  upstairs  saying  good-night  to 
her  grandfather.  Mrs.  Owen  arrested  Sylvia's  flight 
through  the  hall. 

"  Sylvia, I  guess  you  and  Mr.  Harwood  are  already 
acquainted." 

11  Except,"  said  Dan,  "that  we  haven't  been 
introduced!" 

"Then,  Miss  Garrison,  this  is  Mr.  Harwood. 
He's  a  Yale  College  man,  so  I  read  in  the  paper." 

"Oh,  I  already  knew  that!"  replied  Sylvia, 
laughing. 

"At  Wellesley  please  remember,  Miss  Garrison, 
about  the  Kalamazoo  cousins,"  said  Dan,  his  hand 
on  the  front  door. 

"I  guess  you  young  folks  did  n't  need  that  intro 
duction,"  observed  Mrs.  Owen.  "Don't  forget  to 
come  and  see  me,  Mr.  Harwood." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

SOMETIMES,  in  the  rapid  progress  of  their 
acquaintance,  Allen  Thatcher  exasperated 
Harwood,  but  more  often  he  puzzled  and  in 
terested  him.  It  was  clear  that  the  millionaire's  son 
saw  or  thought  he  saw  in  Dan  a  Type.  To  be 
thought  a  Type  may  be  flattering  or  not;  it  depends 
upo.n  the  point  of  view.  Dan  himself  had  no  illu 
sions  in  the  matter.  Allen  wanted  to  see  and  if 
possible  meet  the  local  characters  of  whom  he  read 
in  the  newspapers;  and  he  began  joining  Harwood 
in  visits  to  the  hotels  at  night,  hoping  that  these 
wonderful  representatives  of  American  democracy 
might  appear.  Harwood's  acquaintance  was  widen 
ing;  he  knew,  by  sight  at  least,  all  the  prominent  men 
of  the  city  and  state,  and  after  leaving  the  newspaper 
he  still  spent  one  or  two  evenings  a  week  lounging 
in  the  hotel  corridors.  Tradition  survived  of  taller 
giants  before  the  days  of  the  contemporaneous 
Agamemnons.  Allen  asked  questions  about  these 
and  mourned  their  passing.  Harrison,  the  twenty- 
third  President;  Gresham,  of  the  brown  eyes,  judge 
and  cabinet  minister;  Hendricks,  the  courtly  gen 
tleman,  sometime  Vice-President;  " Uncle  Joe" 
McDonald  and  "Dan"  Voorhees,  Senators  in  Con 
gress,  and  loved  in  their  day  by  wide  constituencies. 

(193) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

These  had  vanished,  but  Dan  and  Allen  made  a 
pious  pilgrimage  one  night  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  David 
Turpie,  who  had  been  a  Senator  in  two  widely  sepa 
rated  eras,  and  who,  white  and  venerable,  like 
Aigyptos  knew  innumerable  things. 

The  cloaked  poets  once  visible  in  Market  Street 
had  vanished  before  our  chronicle  opens,  with  the 
weekly  literary  journals  in  which  they  had  shone,  but 
Dan  was  able  to  introduce  Allen  to  James  Whitcomb 
Riley  in  a  bookshop  frequented  by  the  poet;  and  that 
was  a  great  day  in  Allen's  life.  He  formed  the  habit 
of  lying  in  wait  for  the  poet  and  walking  with  him, 
discussing  Keats  and  Burns,  Stevenson  and  Kipling, 
and  others  of  their  common  admirations.  One  day  of 
days  the  poet  took  Allen  home  with  him  and  read 
him  a  new,  unpublished  poem,  and  showed  him  a 
rare  photograph  of  Stevenson  and  the  outside  of  a 
letter  just  received  from  Kipling,  from  the  utter 
most  parts  of  the  world.  It  was  a  fine  thing  to  know 
a  poet  and  to  speak  with  him  face  to  face,  --  par 
ticularly  a  poet  who  sang  of  his  own  soil  as  Allen 
wished  to  know  it.  Still,  Allen  did  not  quite  under 
stand  how  it  happened  that  a  poet  who  wrote  of 
farmers  and  country-town  folk  wore  eyeglasses  and 
patent-leather  shoes  and  carried  a  folded  silk  um 
brella  in  all  weathers. 

The  active  politicians  who  crossed  his  horizon 
interested  Allen  greatly;  the  rougher  and  more  un 
couth  they  were  the  more  he  admired  them.  They 
were  figures  in  the  Great  Experiment,  no  matter  how 
sordid  or  contemptible  Harwood  pronounced  them. 
He  was  always  looking  for  "types"  and  "Big" 

(194) 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

Jordan,  the  Republican  chief,  afforded  him  the  great 
est  satisfaction.  He  viewed  the  local  political  scene 
from  an  angle  that  Harwood  found  amusing,  and 
Dan  suggested  that  it  must  be  because  the  feudal 
taint  and  the  servile  tradition  are  still  in  our  blood 
that  we  submit  so  tamely  to  the  rule  of  petty  lord- 
lings.  In  his  exalted  moments  Allen's  ideas  shot  far 
into  the  air,  and  Dan  found  it  necessary  to  pull  him 
back  to  earth. 

"I  hardly  see  a  Greek  frieze  carved  of  these 
brethren,"  Dan  remarked  one  night  as  they  lounged 
at  the  Whitcomb  when  a  meeting  of  the  state  com 
mittee  was  in  progress.  "These  fellows  would  make 
you  weep  if  you  knew  as  much  about  them  as  I  do. 
There's  one  of  the  bright  lights  now  —  the  Hon 
orable  Ike  Pettit,  of  Eraser.  The  Honorable  Ike  is  n't 
smart  enough  to  be  crooked;  he's  the  bellowing 
Falstaff  of  the  Hoosier  Democracy.  I  wonder  who 
the  laugh 's  on  just  now ;  he 's  shaking  like  a  jelly  fish 
over  something." 

"Oh,  I  know  him!  He  and  father  are  great 
chums;  he  was  at  the  house  for  dinner  last  night.11 

"What!" 

Harwood  was  unfeignedly  surprised  at  this.  The 
editor  of  the  "Fraser  County  Democrat"  had  prob 
ably  never  dined  at  the  Bassetts'  in  his  own  town,  or 
at  least  Dan  assumed  as  much;  and  since  he  had 
gained  an  insight  into  Bassett's  affairs  he  was  aware 
that  the  physical  property  of  the  "Fraser  County 
Democrat"  was  mortgaged  to  Morton  Bassett  for 
quite  all  it  was  worth.  It  was  hardly  possible  that 
Thatcher  was  cultivating  Pettit's  acquaintance  for 

(195) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

sheer  joy  of  his  society.  As  the  ponderous  editor 
lumbered  across  the  lobby  to  where  they  sat,  Dan 
and  Allen  rose  to  receive  his  noisily  cordial  saluta 
tions.  On  his  visits  to  the  capital,  arrayed  in  a  tre 
mendous  frock  coat  and  with  a  flapping  slouch  hat 
crowning  his  big  iron-gray  head,  he  was  a  prodigious 
figure. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  dropping  an  arm  round  each  of 
the  young  men,  "the  Democratic  Party  is  the  hope 
of  mankind.  Free  her  of  the  wicked  bosses,  boil  the 
corruption  out  of  her,  and  the  grand  old  Hoosier 
Democracy  will  appear  once  more  upon  the  moun 
tain  tops  as  the  bringer  of  glad  tidings.  What's  the 
answer,  my  lads,  to  Uncle  Ike's  philosophy?" 

"Between  campaigns  we're  all  reformers,"  said 
Harwood  guardedly.  "I  feel  it  working  in  my  own 
system." 

"Between  campaigns,"  replied  the  Honorable 
Isaac  Pettit  impressively,  "we're  all  a  contemptible 
lot  of  cowards,  that's  what's  the  matter  with  us. 
Was  Thomas  Jefferson  engaged  in  manipulating 
legislatures?  Did  he  obstruct  the  will  of  the  people? 
Not  by  a  long  shot  he  did  not!  And  that  grand  old 
patriot,  Andrew  Jackson,  was  n't  he  satisfied  to  take 
his  licker  or  let  it  alone  without  being  like  a  heathen 
in  his  blindness,  bowing  down  to  wood  and  stone 
carved  into  saloons  and  distilleries?" 

"  It's  said  by  virtuous  Republicans  that  our  party 
is  only  a  tail  to  the  liquor  interests.  If  you're  going 
back  to  the  Sage  of  Monticello,  how  do  you  think  he 
would  answer  that?" 

"Bless  you,  my  dear  boy;  it's  not  the  saloons  we 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

try  to  protect;  it's  the  plain  people,  who  are  entitled 
to  the  widest  and  broadest  liberty.  If  you  screw  the 
lid  down  on  people  too  tight  you'll  smother  'em. 
I'm  not  a  drinkin'  man;  I  go  to  church  and  in  my 
newspaper  I  preach  the  felicities  of  sobriety  and 
domestic  peace.  But  it's  not  for  me  to  dictate  to 
my  brother  what  he  shall  eat  or  wear.  No,  sir!  And 
look  here,  don't  you  try  to  read  me  out  of  the  Dem 
ocratic  Party,  young  man.  At  heart  our  party's  as 
sweet  and  strong  as  corn;  yea,  as  the  young  corn 
that  leapeth  to  the  rains  of  June.  It's  the  bosses 
that's  keepin'  us  down." 

"Your  reference  to  corn  throws  us  back  on  the 
distilleries,"  suggested  Harwood,  laughing. 

But  he  was  regarding  the  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit 
attentively.  Pettit  had  changed  his  manner  and 
stood  rocking  himself  slowly  on  his  heels.  He  had 
been  a  good  deal  at  the  capital  of  late,  and  this, 
together  with  his  visit  to  Thatcher's  house,  aroused 
Harwood's  curiosity.  He  wondered  whether  it  were 
possible  that  Pettit  and  Thatcher  were  conspiring 
against  Bassett:  the  fact  that  he  was  so  heavily  in 
debt  to  the  senator  from  Eraser  seemed  to  dispose  of 
his  fears.  Since  his  first  visit  to  Fraserville  Dan  had 
heard  many  interesting  and  amusing  things  about 
the  editor.  Pettit  had  begun  life  as  a  lawyer,  but  had 
relapsed  into  rural  journalism  after  a  futile  effort  to 
find  clients.  He  had  some  reputation  as  an  orator, 
and  Dan  had  heard  him  make  a  speech  distinguished 
by  humor  and  homely  good  sense  at  a  meeting  of  the 
Democratic  State  Editorial  Association.  Pettit, 
having  once  sat  beside  Henry  Watterson  at  a  public 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

dinner  in  Louisville,  had  thereafter  encouraged  as 
modestly  as  possible  a  superstition  that  he  and  Mr. 
Watterson  were  the  last  survivors  of  the  "old 
school"  of  American  editors.  One  of  his  favorite 
jokes  was  the  use  of  the  editorial  "we"  in  familiar 
conversation;  he  said  "our  wife"  and  "our  sanc 
tum,"  and  he  amused  himself  by  introducing  into 
the  "Democrat"  trifling  incidents  of  his  domestic 
life,  beginning  these  items  with  such  phrases  as, 
"While  we  were  weeding  our  asparagus  bed  in  the 
cool  of  Tuesday  morning,  our  wife  —  noble  woman 
that  she  is  -  "  etc.,  etc.  His  squibs  of  this  charac 
ter,  quoted  sometimes  in  metropolitan  newspapers, 
afforded  him  the  greatest  glee.  He  appeared  occa 
sionally  as  a  lecturer,  his  favorite  subject  being 
American  humor ;  and  he  was  able  to  prove 
by  his  scrap-book  that  he  had  penetrated  as  far 
east  as  Xenia,  Ohio,  and  as  far  west  as  Decatur, 
Illinois.  Once,  so  ran  Fraserville  tradition,  he  had 
been  engaged  for  the  lyceum  course  at  Springfield, 
Missouri,  but  his  contract  had  been  canceled  when  it 
was  found  that  his  discourse  was  unillumined  by  the 
stereopticon,  that  vivifying  accessory  being  just 
then  in  high  favor  in  that  community. 

Out  of  his  own  reading  and  reflections  Allen  had 
reached  the  conclusion  that  Franklin,  Emerson,  and 
Lincoln  were  the  greatest  Americans.  He  talked  a 
great  deal  of  Lincoln  and  of  the  Civil  War,  and  the 
soldiers'  monument,  in  its  circular  plaza  in  the  heart 
of  the  city,  symbolized  for  him  all  heroic  things.  He 
would  sit  on  the  steps  in  the  gray  shadow  at  night, 
waiting  for  Dan  to  finish  some  task  at  his  office,  and 

(198) 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

Harwood  would  find  him  absorbed,  dreaming  by  the 
singing,  foaming  fountains. 

Allen  spoke  with  a  kind  of  passionate  eloquence 
of  This  Stupendous  Experiment,  or  This  Beautiful 
Experiment,  as  he  liked  to  call  America.  Dan  put 
Walt  Whitman  into  his  hands  and  afterwards  re 
gretted  it,  for  Allen  developed  an  attack  of  acute 
Whitmania  that  tried  Dan's  patience  severely.  Dan 
had  passed  through  Whitman  at  college  and  emerged 
safely  on  the  other  side.  He  begged  Allen  not  to 
call  him  "camerado"  or  lift  so  often  the  perpendicu 
lar  hand.  He  suggested  to  him  that  while  it  might 
be  fine  and  patriotic  to  declaim 

"  When  lilacs  last  in  the  dooryard  bloom'd," 

from  the  steps  of  the  monument  at  midnight,  the 
police  might  take  another  view  of  the  performance. 
He  began  to  see,  however,  that  beneath  much  that 
was  whimsical  and  sentimental  the  young  fellow 
was  sincerely  interested  in  the  trend  of  things  in 
what,  during  this  Whitman  period,  he  called  "these 
states. ' '  Sometimes  Allen's  remarks  on  current  events 
struck  Harwood  by  their  wisdom:  the  boy  was 
wholesomely  provocative  and  stimulating.  He  be 
gan  to  feel  that  he  understood  him,  and  in  his  own 
homelessness  Allen  became  a  resource. 

Allen  was  a  creature  of  moods,  and  vanished  often 
for  days  or  weeks.  He  labored  fitfully  in  his  car 
penter  shop  at  home  or  with  equal  irregularity  at  a 
bench  in  the  shop  of  Liiders,  a  cabinetmaker.  Dan 
sometimes  sought  him  at  the  shop,  which  was  a 
headquarters  for  radicals  of  all  sorts.  The  workmen 

(i99) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

showed  a  great  fondness  for  Allen,  who  had  been 
much  in  Germany  and  spoke  their  language  well. 
He  carried  to  the  shop  quantities  of  German  books 
and  periodicals  for  their  enlightenment.  The  shop's 
visitors  included  several  young  Americans,  among 
them  a  newspaper  artist,  a  violinist  in  a  theatre 
orchestra,  and  a  linotype  expert.  They  all  wore  large 
black  scarfs  and  called  each  other  "comrade."  Al 
len  earnestly  protested  that  he  still  believed  in 
the  American  Idea,  the  Great  Experiment;  but  if 
democracy  should  fail  he  was  ready  to  take  up 
socialism.  He  talked  of  his  heroes;  he  said  they 
all  owed  it  to  the  men  who  had  made  and  preserved 
the  Union  to  give  the  existing  government  a  chance. 
These  discussions  were  entirely  good-humored  and 
Harwood  enjoyed  them.  Sometimes  they  met  in 
the  evening  at  a  saloon  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
shop  where  Allen,  the  son  of  Edward  Thatcher, 
whom  everybody  knew,  was  an  object  of  special 
interest.  He  would  sit  on  a  table  and  lecture  the 
saloon  loungers  in  German,  and  at  the  end  of  a  long 
debate  made  a  point  of  paying  the  score.  He  was 
most  temperate  himself,  sipping  a  glass  of  wine  or 
beer  in  the  deliberate  German  fashion. 

Allen  was  a  friendly  soul  and  every  one  liked  him. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  like  a  lad  whose  ways  were 
so  gentle,  whose  smile  was  so  appealing.  He  liked 
dancing  and' went  to  most  of  the  parties  —  our  cap 
ital  has  not  outgrown  its  homely  provincial  habit  of 
calling  all  social  entertainments  "parties."  He  was 
unfailingly  courteous,  with  a  manner  toward  women 
slightly  elaborate  and  reminiscent  of  other  times. 

(200) 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

There  was  no  question  of  his  social  acceptance; 
mothers  of  daughters,  who  declined  to  speak  to  his 
father,  welcomed  him  to  their  houses. 

Allen  introduced  Dan  to  the  households  he  par 
ticularly  fancied  and  they  made  calls  together  on 
Dan's  free  evenings  or  on  Sunday  afternoons.  Snob 
bishness  was  a  late  arrival  among  us ;  any  young  man 
that  any  one  vouched  for  might  know  the  "nicest" 
girls.  Harwood's  social  circle  was  widening;  Fitch 
and  his  wife  said  a  good  word  for  him  in  influential 
quarters,  and  the  local  Yale  men  had  not  neglected 
him.  Allen  liked  the  theatre,  and  exercised  consider 
able  ingenuity  in  devising  excuses  for  paying  for  the 
tickets  when  they  took  young  women  of  their  ac 
quaintance.  He  pretended  to  Dan  that  he  had  free 
tickets  or  got  them  at  a  discount.  His  father  made 
him  a  generous  allowance  and  he  bought  a  motor 
car  in  which  he  declared  Dan  had  a  half  inter 
est;  they  needed  it,  he  said,  for  their  social  adven 
tures. 

At  the  Thatcher  house,  Harwood  caught  fitful 
glimpses  of  Allen's  father,  a  bird  of  passage  inured 
to  sleeping-cars.  Occasionally  Harwood  dined  with 
the  father  and  son  and  they  would  all  adjourn  to 
Allen's  shop  on  the  third  floor  to  smoke  and  talk. 
When  Allen  gave  rein  to  his  fancy  and  began  des 
canting  upon  the  grandeur  of  the  Republic  and  the 
Beautiful  Experiment  making  in  " these  states," 
Dan  would  see  a  blank  puzzled  look  steal  into 
Thatcher's  face.  Thatcher  adored  Allen:  he  had  for 
him  the  deep  love  of  a  lioness  for  her  cubs;  but  all 
this  idealistic  patter  the  boy  had  got  hold  of  —  God 

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A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

knew  where !  —  sounded  as  strange  to  the  rich  man 
as  a  discourse  in  Sanskrit. 

Thatcher  had  not  been  among  Bassett's  callers  in 
the  new  office  in  the  Boordman,  but  late  one  after 
noon,  when  Dan  was  deep  in  the  principles  of  evid 
ence;  Thatcher  came  in. 

"I'm  not  expecting  Mr.  Bassett  to-day,  if  you 
wish  to  see  him,"  said  Dan. 

" Nope,"  Thatcher  replied  indifferently,  " I'm  not 
looking  for  Mort.  He's  in  Fraserville,  I  happen  to 
know.  Just  talking  to  him  on  the  telephone,  so  I 
rather  guessed  you  were  alone;  that's  why  I  came 
up.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little  bit,  Harwood. 
It  must  be  nearly  closing  time,  so  suppose  you  lock 
the  door.  You  see,"  he  continued,  idling  about  the 
room,  "Mort's  in  the  newspapers  a  good  deal,  and 
not  being  any  such  terrible  sinner  as  he  is  I  don't 
care  to  have  his  labels  tacked  on  me  too  much.  Not 
that  Mort  is  n't  one  of  my  best  friends,  you  know; 
but  a  family  man  like  me  has  got  to  be  careful  of  his 
reputation." 

Harwood  opened  his  drawer  and  took  out  a  box 
of  cigars.  Thatcher  accepted  one  and  lighted  it  de 
liberately,  commenting  on  the  office  as  he  did  so. 
He  even  strolled  through  the  library  to  the  open  door 
of  Bassett's  private  room  beyond.  The  map  of 
Indiana  suspended  above  Bassett's  desk  interested 
him  and  he  stood  leaning  on  his  stick  and  surveying 
it.  There  was  something  the  least  bit  insinuating 
in  his  manner.  The  room,  the  map,  the  fact  that 
Morton  Bassett  of  Fraserville  had,  so  to  speak, 
planted  a  vedette  in  the  heart  of  the  capital,  seemed 

(202) 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

to  afford  him  mild,  cynical  amusement.  He  drew 
his  hand  across  his  face,  twisted  his  mustache,  and 
took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  examined  the  end 
of  it  with  fictitious  interest. 

"Well,"  he  ejaculated,  "damn  it  all,  why  not?" 

Harwood  did  not  know  why  not;  but  a  man  as 
rich  as  Edward  Thatcher  was  entitled  to  his  vaga 
ries.  Thatcher  sank  into  Bassett's  swivel  chair  and 
swung  round  once  or  twice  as  though  testing  it, 
meanwhile  eyeing  the  map.  Then  he  tipped  himself 
back  comfortably  and  dropped  his  hat  into  his  lap. 
His  grayish  brown  hair  was  combed  carefully  from 
one  side  across  the  top  in  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  conceal  his  baldness. 

"I  guess  Mort  would  n't  object  to  my  sitting  in 
his  chair  provided  I  did  n't  look  at  that  map  too 
much.  Who  was  the  chap  that  the  sword  hung  over 
by  a  hair  —  Damocles?  Well,  maybe  that's  what 
that  map  is  —  it  would  smash  pretty  hard  if  the 
whole  state  fell  down  on  Mort.  But  Mort  knows 
just  how  many  voters  there  are  in  every  township 
and  just  how  they  line  up  election  morning.  There's 
a  lot  of  brains  in  Bassett's  head;  you've  noticed 
it?" 

"It's  admitted,  I  believe,  that  he's  a  man  of 
ability,"  said  Dan  a  little  coldly. 

Thatcher  grinned. 

"You're  all  right,  Harwood.  I  know  you're  all 
right  or  Mort  would  n't  have  put  you  in  here.  I  'm 
rather  kicking  myself  that  I  did  n't  see  you  first." 

"Mr.  Bassett  has  given  me  a  chance  I  'd  begun 
to  fear  I  should  n't  get;  you  see  I'm  studying  law 

(203) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

here.  Mr.  Bassett  has  made  that  possible.  He's  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had." 

" That's  good.  Bassett  usually  picks  winners. 
From  what  I  hear  of  you  and  what  I  've  seen  I  think 
you're  all  right  myself.  My  boy  has  taken  quite  a 
great  fancy  to  you." 

Thatcher  looked  at  the  end  of  his  cigar  and  waited 
for  Dan  to  reply. 

"I've  grown  very  fond  of  Allen.  He's  very  un 
usual;  he's  full  of  surprises." 

"That  boy,"  said  Thatcher,  pointing  his  cigar  at 
Dan,  "is  the  greatest  boy  in  the  world;  but,  damn 
it  all,  I  don't  make  him  out." 

"Well,  he's  different;  he's  an  idealist.  I'm  not 
sure  that  he  is  n't  a  philosopher!" 

Thatcher  nodded,  as  though  this  were  a  corrobo- 
ration  of  his  own  surmises. 

"He  has  a  lot  of  ideas  that  are  what  they  call 
advanced,  but  it's  not  for  me  to  say  that  he  is  n't 
right  about  them.  He  talks  nonsense  some  of  the 
time,  but  occasionally  he  knocks  me  down  with  a 
big  idea  —  or  his  way  of  putting  a  big  idea.  He 
doesn't  understand  a  good  deal  that  he  sees;  and 
yet  he  sometimes  says  something  perfectly  stagger- 
ing." 

"He  does;  by  George,  he  does!  Damn  it,  I  took 
him  to  see  a  glassworks  the  other  day;  thought  it 
would  appeal  to  his  sense  of  what  you  call  the  pic 
turesque;  but,  Lord  bless  me,  he  asked  how  much 
the  blowers  were  paid  and  wanted  me  to  raise  their 
pay  on  the  spot.  That  was  one  on  me,  all  right;  I  'd 
thought  of  giving  him  the  works  to  play  with,  but 

(204) 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

I  did  n't  have  the  nerve  to  offer  it  to  him  after  that. 
'Fraid  he'd  either  turn  it  down  or  take  it  and  bust 


me." 


Thatcher  had  referred  to  this  incident  with  un 
mistakable  pride;  he  was  evidently  amused  rather 
than  chagrined  by  his  son's  scorn  of  the  gift  of  a 
profitable  industry.  "I  offered  him  money  to  start 
a  carpenter  shop  or  furniture  factory  or  anything 
he  wanted  to  tackle,  but  he  would  n't  have  it.  Said 
he  wanted  to  work  in  somebody  else's  shop  to  get  the 
discipline.  Discipline?  That  boy  never  had  any  dis 
cipline  in  his  life!  I've  kept  my  nose  to  the  grind 
stone  ever  since  I  was  knee-high  to  a  toad  just  so 
that  boy  would  n't  have  to  worry  about  his  daily 
bread,  and  now,  damn  it  all,  he  runs  a  carpenter 
shop  on  the  top  floor  of  a  house  that  stands  me,  lot, 
furniture,  and  all,  nearly  a  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars!  I  can't  talk  to  everybody  about  this;  my 
wife  and  daughters  don't  want  any  discipline;  don't 
like  the  United  States  or  anything  in  it  except  ex 
change  on  London ;  and  here  I  am  with  a  boy  who 
wears  overalls  and  tries  to  callous  his  hands  to  look 
like  a  laboring  man.  If  you  can  figure  that  out,  it's 
a  damn  sight  more  than  I  can  do!  It's  one  on  Ed 
Thatcher,  that 'sail!" 

"If  I  try  to  answer  you,  please  don't  think  I  pre 
tend  to  any  unusual  knowledge  of  human  nature; 
but  what  I  see  in  the  boy  is  a  kind  of  poetic  attitude 
toward  America  —  our  politics,  the  whole  scheme ; 
and  it's  a  poetic  strain  in  him  that  accounts  for  this 
feeling  about  labor.  And  he  has  a  feeling  for  justice 
and  mercy;  he's  strong  for  the  underdog." 

(205) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

" I  suppose,"  said  Thatcher  dryly,  "that  if  he'd 
been  an  underdog  the  way  I  was  he'd  be  more 
tickled  at  a  chance  to  sit  on  top.  When  I  wore  over 
alls  it  was  n't  funny.  Well,  what  am  I  going  to  do 
with  him?" 

"  If  you  really  want  me  to  tell  you  I  'd  say  to  let 
him  alone.  He's  a  perfectly  clean,  straight,  high- 
minded  boy.  If  he  were  physically  strong  enough  I 
should  recommend  him  to  go  to  college,  late  as  it 
is  for  him;  or  better,  to  a  school  where  he  would 
really  satisfy  what  seems  to  be  his  sincere  ambition 
to  learn  to  do  something  with  his  hands.  But  he's 
all  right  as  he  is.  You  ought  to  be  glad  that  his  aims 
are  so  wholesome.  There  are  sons  of  prosperous  men 
right  around  here  who  see  everything  red." 

'That  boy,"  declared  Thatcher,  pride  and  love 
surging  in  him,  "is  as  clean  as  wheat!" 

"Quite  so;  no  one  could  know  him  without  loving 
him.  And  I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  find  myself  in 
accord  with  many  of  his  ideas." 

"Sort  of  damned  idealist  yourself?" 

"I  should  blush  to  say  it,"  laughed  Dan;  "but 
I  feel  my  heart  warming  when  Allen  gets  to  soaring 
sometimes;  he  expresses  himself  with  great  vivid 
ness.  He  goes  after  me  hard  on  my  laissez-faire 
notions." 

"I  take  the  count  and  throw  up  the  sponge!" 

"Oh,  that's  a  chestnut  that  means  merely  that  the 
underdog  had  better  stay  under  if  he  can't  fight  his 
way  out." 

"It  seems  tough  when  you  boil  it  down  to  that; 
I  guess  maybe  Allen 's  right  —  we  all  ought  to  di- 

(206) 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

vide  up.  I'm  willing,  only " —  and  he  grinned 
quizzically  —  "I'm  paired  with  Mort  Bassett." 

The  light  in  his  cigar  had  gone  out;  he  swung  round 
and  faced  the  map  of  Indiana  above  Morton  Bassett's 
desk,  fumbling  in  his  waistcoat  for  a  match.  When 
he  turned  toward  Harwood  again  he  blew  smoke 
rings  meditatively  before  speaking. 

"  If  you're  one  of  these  rotten  idealists,  Harwood, 
what  are  you  doing  here  with  Bassett?  If  that 
ain't  a  fair  question,  don't  answer  it." 

Harwood  was  taken  aback  by  the  directness  of  the 
question.  Bassett  had  always  spoken  of  Thatcher 
with  respect,  and  he  resented  the  new  direction 
given  to  this  conversation  in  Bassett's  own  office. 
Dan  straightened  himself  with  dignity,  but  before 
he  could  speak  Thatcher  laughed,  and  fanned  the 
smoke  of  his  cigar  away  with  his  hands. 

"Don't  get  hot.  That  was  not  a  fair  question;  I 
know  it.  I  guess  Bassett  has  his  ideals  just  like  the 
rest  of  us.  I  suppose  I  've  got  some,  too,  though  I  'd 
be  embarrassed  if  you  asked  me  to  name  'em.  I 
suppose"  —  and  he  narrowed  his  eyes  —  "I  sup 
pose  Mort  not  only  has  his  ideals  but  his  ambitions. 
They  go  together,  I  reckon." 

"I  hope  he  has  both,  Mr.  Thatcher,  but  you  are 
assuming  that  I  'm  deeper  in  his  confidence  than  the 
facts  justify.  You  and  he  have  been  acquainted  so 
long  that  you  ought  to  know  him  thoroughly." 

Thatcher  did  not  heed  this  mild  rebuke;  nor  did 
he  resort  to  propitiatory  speech.  His  cool  way  of  ig 
noring  Dan's  reproach  added  to  the  young  man's 
annoyance ;  Dan  felt  that  it  was  in  poor  taste  and  un- 

(207) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

generous  for  a  man  of  Thatcher's  years  and  position 
to  come  into  Bassett's  private  office  to  discuss  him 
with  a  subordinate.  He  had  already  learned  enough 
of  the  relations  of  the  two  men  to  realize  that  per 
fect  amity  was  essential  between  them;  he  was 
shocked  by  the  indifference  with  which  Thatcher 
spoke  of  Bassett,  of  whom  people  did  not  usually 
speak  carelessly  in  this  free  fashion.  Harwood's  own 
sense  of  loyalty  was  in  arms;  yet  Thatcher  seemed 
unmindful  that  anything  disagreeable  had  occurred. 
He  threw  away  his  cigar  and  drew  out  a  fresh  one 
which  he  wobbled  about  in  his  mouth  unlighted. 
He  kept  swinging  round  in  his  chair  to  gaze  at  the 
map  above  Bassett's  desk.  The  tinted  outlines  of 
the  map  —  green,  pink,  and  orange  —  could  not  have 
had  for  him  any  novelty;  similar  maps  hung  in  many 
offices  and  Thatcher  was  moreover  a  native  of  the 
state  and  long  familiar  with  its  configuration.  Per 
haps,  Dan  reflected,  its  juxtaposition  to  Bassett's 
desk  was  what  irritated  his  visitor,  though  it  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  this  had  any  significance. 
He  recalled  now,  however,  that  when  he  had  ar 
ranged  the  rooms  the  map  had  been  hung  in  the 
outer  office,  but  that  Bassett  himself  had  removed  it 
to  his  private  room  —  the  only  change  he  had 
made  in  Dan's  arrangements.  It  was  conceivable 
that  Thatcher  saw  in  the  position  of  the  map  an 
adumbration  of  Bassett's  higher  political  ambition, 
and  that  this  had  affected  the  capitalist  unpleasantly. 
Thatcher's  manner  was  that  of  a  man  so  secure 
in  his  own  position  that  he  could  afford  to  .trample 
others  under  foot  if  he  liked.  It  was  —  not  to  put 

(208)  • 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

too  fine  a  point  upon  it  —  the  manner  of  a  bully. 
His  reputation  for  independence  was  well  established ; 
he  was  rich  enough  to  say  what  he  pleased  without 
regard  to  the  consequences,  and  he  undoubtedly 
enjoyed  his  sense  of  power. 

"I  suppose  I'm  the  only  man  in  Indiana  that 
ain't  afraid  of  Mort  Bassett,"  he  announced  casu 
ally.  "It's  because  Mort  knows  I  ain't  afraid  of  him 
that  we  get  on  so  well  together.  You ' ve  been  with 
him  long  enough  by  this  time  to  know  that  we  have 
some  interests  together. " 

Dan,  with  his  fingers  interlocked  behind  his  head, 
nodded  carelessly.  He  had  grown  increasingly  re 
sentful  of  Thatcher's  tone  and  manner,  and  was 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  him. 

"Mort's  a  good  deal  closer-mouthed  than  I  am. 
Mort  likes  to  hide  his  tracks  —  better  than  that,  by 
George,  Mort  does  n't  make  any  tracks!  Well,  every 
man  is  bound  to  break  a  twig  now  and  then  as  he 
goes  along.  By  George,  I  tear  down  the  trees  like 
an  elephant  so  they  can't  miss  me!  " 

As  Dan  made  no  reply  to  this  Thatcher  recurred 
in  a  moment  to  Allen  and  Harwood's  annoyance 
passed.  It  was  obvious  that  the  capitalist  had 
sought  this  interview  to  talk  of  the  boy,  to  make 
sure  that  Harwood  was  sincerely  interested  in  him. 
Thatcher's  manner  of  speaking  of  his  son  was  kind 
and  affectionate.  The  introduction  of  Bassett  into 
the  discussion  had  been  purely  incidental,  but  it 
was  not  less  interesting  because  of  its  unpremeditated 
interjection.  There  was  possibly  some  jealousy  here 
that  would  manifest  itself  later;  but  that  was  not 

(209) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Dan's  affair.  Bassett  was  beyond  doubt  able  to  take 
care  of  himself  in  emergencies;  Dan's  admiration 
for  his  patron  was  strongly  intrenched  in  this  be 
lief.  The  bulkier  Thatcher,  with  the  marks  of  self- 
indulgence  upon  him,  and  with  his  bright  waistcoat 
and  flashy  necktie  transcending  the  bounds  of 
good  taste,  struck  him  as  a  weaker  character.  If 
Thatcher  meditated  a  break  with  Bassett,  the 
sturdier  qualities,  the  even,  hard  strokes  that  Bas 
sett  had  a  reputation  for  delivering,  would  count 
heavily  against  him. 

"I'm  glad  you  get  on  so  well  with  the  boy,M 
Thatcher  was  saying.  "  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  his  upbringing  has  been  a  little  unfortunate  — 
too  much  damned  Europe.  He's  terribly  sore  be 
cause  he  did  n't  go  to  college  instead  of  being  tu 
tored  all  over  Europe.  It's  funny  he's  got  all  these 
romantic  ideas  about  America;  he's  sore  at  me  be 
cause  he  was  n't  born  poor  and  did  n't  have  to  chop 
rails  to  earn  his  way  through  college  and  all  that. 
The  rest  of  my  family  like  the  money  all  right; 
they're  only  sore  because  I  did  n't  make  it  raising 
tulips.  But  that  boy's  all  right  And  see  here — " 
Thatcher  seemed  for  a  moment  embarrassed  by 
what  was  in  his  mind.  He  fidgeted  in  his  chair  and 
eyed  Harwood  sharply.  "See  here,  Harwood,  if 
you  find  after  awhile  that  you  don't  get  on  with 
Bassett,  or  you  want  to  change,  why,  I  want  you 
to  give  me  a  chance  at  you.  I  'd  like  to  put  my  boy 
with  you,  somehow.  I  '11  die  some  day  and  I  want  to 
be  sure  somebody '11  look  after  him.  By  God,  he's 
all  I  got!" 

(210) 


THE  MAP  ABOVE  BASSETT'S  DESK 

He  swung  round,  but  his  eyes  were  upon  the  floor; 
he  drew  out  a  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose  noisily. 

"By  George,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  promised  Allen 
to  take  you  up  to  Sally  Owen's.  You  know  Mrs. 
Owen?  That's  right;  Allen  said  she's  been  asking 
about  you.  She  likes  young  folks;  she'll  never  be 
old  herself.  Allen  and  I  are  going  there  for  supper, 
and  he's  asked  her  if  he  might  bring  you  along. 
Aunt  Sally's  a  great  woman.  And"  —  he  grinned 
ruefully — "a  good  trader.  She  has  beat  me  on 
many  a  horse  trade,  that  woman;  and  I  always  go 
back  to  try  it  again.  You  kind  o'  like  having  her 
do  you.  And  I  guess  I'm  the  original  easy  mark 
when  it  comes  to  horse.  Get  your  hat  and  come 
along.  Allen 's  fixed  this  all  up  with  her.  I  guess  you 
and  she  are  the  best  friends  the  boy's  got." 


CHAPTER  XII 

BLURRED  WINDOWS 

WITH  Sylvia's  life  in  college  we  have  little 
to  do,  but  a  few  notes  we  must  make  now 
that  she  has  reached  her  sophomore  year. 
She  had  never  known  girls  until  she  went  to  college 
and  she  had  been  the  shyest  of  freshmen,  the  least 
obtrusive  of  sophomores. 

She  had  carried  her  work  from  the  start  with  re 
markable  ease  and  as  the  dragons  of  failure  were  no 
longer  a  menace  she  began  to  give  more  heed  to 
the  world  about  her.  She  was  early  recognized  as  an 
earnest,  conscientious  student  whose  work  in  cer 
tain  directions  was  brilliant;  and  as  a  sophomore  her 
fellows  began  to  know  her  and  take  pride  in  her. 
She  was  relieved  to  find  herself  swept  naturally  into 
the  social  currents  of  the  college.  She  had  been 
afraid  of  appearing  stiff  or  priggish,  but  her  self- 
consciousness  quickly  vanished  in  the  broad,  whole 
some  democracy  of  college  life.  The  best  scholar 
in  her  class,  she  was  never  called  a  grind  and  she  was 
far  from  being  a  frump.  The  wisest  woman  in  the 
faculty  said  of  Sylvia:  "That  girl  with  her  head 
among  the  stars  has  her  feet  planted  on  solid  ground. 
Her  life  will  count."  And  the  girlhood  that  Sylvia 
had  partly  lost,  was  recovered  and  prolonged.  It 
was  a  fine  thing  to  be  an  American  college  girl, 
Sylvia  realized,  and  the  varied  intercourse,  the  day's 

(212) 


BLURRED  WINDOWS 

hundred  and  one  contacts  and  small  excitements, 
meant  more  to  her  than  her  fellow  students  knew. 
When  there  was  fun  in  the  air  Sylvia  could  be  relied 
upon  to  take  a  hand  in  it.  Her  allowance  was  not 
meagre  and  she  joined  zestfully  in  such  excursions 
as  were  possible,  to  concerts,  lectures,  and  the  the 
atre.  She  had  that  reverence  for  New  England  tradi 
tions  that  is  found  in  all  young  Westerners.  It  was 
one  of  her  jokes  that  she  took  two  Boston  girls  on 
their  first  pilgrimage  to  Concord,  a  joke  that  greatly 
tickled  John  Ware,  brooding  in  his  library  in  Dela 
ware  Street. 

A  few  passages  from  her  letters  home  are  illumin 
ative  of  these  college  years.  Here  are  some  snap 
shots  of  her  fellow  students:  — 

"I  never  knew  before  that  there  were  so  many 
kinds  of  people  in  the  world  —  girls,  I  mean.  All 
parts  of  the  country  are  represented,  and  I  suppose 
I  shall  always  judge  different  cities  and  states  by 
the  girls  they  send  here.  There  is  a  California  fresh 
man  who  is  quite  tall,  like  the  redwood  trees,  I  sup 
pose.  And  there  is  a  little  girl  in  my  class  —  she 
seems  little  —  from  Omaha  who  lives  on  a  hilltop 
out  there  where  she  can  see  the  Missouri  River  — 
and  when  her  father  first  settled  there,  Indians  were 
still  about.  She  is  the  nicest  and  gentlest  girl  I 
know,  and  yet  she  brings  before  me  all  those  pioneer 
times  and  makes  me  think  how  fast  the  country  has 
grown.  And  there  is  a  Virginia  girl  in  my  corridor 
who  has  the  most  wonderful  way  of  talking,  and 
there's  history  in  that,  too,  —  the  history  of  all  the 

(213) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

great  war  and  the  things  you  fought  for;  but  I  was 
almost  sorry  to  have  to  let  her  know  that  you 
fought  on  the  other  side,  but  I  did  tell  her.  I  never 
realized,  just  from  books  and  maps,  that  the  United 
States  is  so  big.  The  girls  bring  their  local  back 
grounds  with  them  —  the  different  aims  and  traits. 
...  I  have  drawn  a  map  of  the  country  and  named 
all  the  different  states  and  cities  for  the  girls  who 
come  from  them,  but  this  is  just  for  my  own  fun, 
of  course.  ...  I  never  imagined  one  would  have 
preferences  and  like  and  dislike  people  by  a  kind 
of  instinct,  without  really  knowing  them,  but  I  'm 
afraid  I  do  it,  and  that  all  the  rest  of  us  do  the  same. 
.  .  .  Nothing  in  the  world  is  as  interesting  as  people 
-just  dear,  good  folksy  people!" 

The  correspondence  her  dormitory  neighbors 
carried  on  with  parents  and  brothers  and  sisters  and 
friends  impressed  her  by  its  abundance;  and  she  is  to 
be  pardoned  if  she  weighed  the  letters,  whose  home 
news  was  quoted  constantly  in  her  hearing,  against 
her  own  slight  receipts  at  the  college  post-office. 
She  knew  that  every  Tuesday  morning  there  would 
be  a  letter  from  her  grandfather.  Her  old  friend  Dr. 
Wandless  sent  occasionally,  in  his  kindly  humorous 
fashion,  the  news  of  Buckeye  Lane  and  the  college; 
and  Mrs.  Owen  wrote  a  hurried  line  now  and  then, 
usually  to  quote  one  of  John  Ware's  sayings.  The 
minister  asked  about  Sylvia,  it  seemed.  These  things 
helped,  but  they  did  not  supply  the  sympathy,  of 
which  she  was  conscious  in  countless  ways,  between 
her  fellow  students  and  their  near  of  kin.  With  the 

(214) 


BLURRED  WINDOWS 

approach  of  holiday  times,  the  talk  among  her  com 
panions  of  the  homes  that  awaited  them,  or,  in  the 
case  of  many,  of  other  homes  where  they  were  to  visit, 
deepened  her  newly  awakened  sense  of  isolation. 
Fathers  and  mothers  appeared  constantly  to  visit 
their  daughters,  and  questions  that  had  never 
troubled  her  heart  before  arose  to  vex  her.  Why  was 
it,  when  these  other  girls,  flung  together  from  all 
parts  of  the  country,  were  so  blest  with  kindred, 
that  she  had  literally  but  one  kinsman,  the  grand 
father  on  whom  all  her  love  centred? 

It  should  not  be  thought,  however,  that  she  yielded 
herself  morbidly  to  these  reflections,  but  such  little 
things  as  the  receipt  of  gifts,  the  daily  references 
to  home  affairs,  the  photographs  set  out  in  the  girls' 
rooms,  were  not  without  their  stab.  She  wrote  to 
Professor  Kelton :  — 

11 1  wish  you  would  send  me  your  picture  of  mother. 
I  often  wondered  why  you  didn't  give  it  to  me; 
won't  you  lend  it  to  me  now?  I  think  it  is  put  away 
in  your  desk  in  the  library.  Almost  all  the  girls  have 
pictures  of  their  families  —  some  of  them  of  their 
houses  and  even  the  horse  and  dog  —  in  their  rooms. 
And  you  must  have  a  new  picture  taken  of  yourself 

—  I  'd  like  it  in  your  doctor's  gown,  that  they  gave 
you  at  Williams.    It's  put  away  in  the  cedar  chest 
in  the  attic  —  Mary  will  know  where.    And  if  you 
have  a  picture  of  father  anywhere  I  should  like  to 
have  that  too." 

She  did  not  know  that  when  this  reached  him 

—  one  of  the  series  of  letters  on  which  the  old  gentle- 

(215) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

man  lived  these  days,  with  its  Wellesley  postmark, 
and  addressed  in  Sylvia's  clear,  running  hand,  he 
bowed  his  white  head  and  wept;  for  he  knew  what 
was  in  the  girl's  heart  —  knew  and  dreaded  this 
roused  yearning,  and  suffered  as  he  realized  the  arid 
wastes  of  his  own  ignorance.  But  he  sent  her  the 
picture  of  her  mother  for  which  she  asked,  and  had 
the  cottage  photographed  with  Mills  Hall  showing 
faintly  beyond  the  hedge;  and  he  meekly  smuggled 
his  doctor's  gown  to  the  city  and  sat  for  his  photo 
graph.  These  things  Sylvia  proudly  spread  upon  the 
walls  of  her  room.  He  wrote  to  her  —  a  letter  that 
cost  him  a  day's  labor:  — 

"  We  don't  seem  to  have  any  photograph  of  your 
father;  but  things  have  a  way  of  getting  lost,  par 
ticularly  in  the  hands  of  an  old  fellow  like  me.  How 
ever,  I  have  had  myself  taken  as  you  wished,  and  you 
can  see  now  what  a  solemn  person  your  grandfather 
is  in  his  toga  academica.  I  had  forgotten  I  had  that 
silk  overcoat  and  I  am  not  sure  now  that  I  did  n't  put 
the  hood  on  wrong-side-out!  I'm  a  sailor,  you  know, 
and  these  fancy  things  stump  me.  The  photographer 
did  n't  seem  to  understand  that  sort  of  millinery. 
Please  keep  it  dark;  your  teachers  might  resent 
the  sudden  appearance  in  the  halls  of  Wellesley  of 
a  grim  old  professor  emeritus  not  known  to  your 
faculty." 

The  following  has  its  significance  in  Sylvia's  his 
tory  and  we  must  give  it  place  —  this  also  to  her 
grandfather :  — 

(216) 


BLURRED  WINDOWS 

"The  most  interesting  lecture  I  ever  heard 
(except  yours!)  was  given  at  the  college  yesterday 
by  Miss  Jane  Addams,  of  Hull  House,  the  settle 
ment  worker  and  writer  on  social  reforms.  She's 
such  a  simple,  modest  little  woman  that  everybody 
loved  her  at  once.  She  made  many  things  clear  to 
me  that  I  had  only  groped  for  before.  She  used  an 
expression  that  was  new  to  me,  'reciprocal  obliga 
tions/  which  we  all  have  in  this  world,  though  I 
never  quite  thought  of  it  before.  She's  a  college 
woman  herself,  and  feels  that  all  of  us  who  have 
better  advantages  than  other  people  should  help 
those  who  are  n't  taught  to  climb.  It  seems  the  most 
practical  idea  in  the  world,  that  we  should  gather 
up  the  loose,  rough  fringes  of  society  and  weave  the 
broken  threads  into  a  common  warp  and  woof.  The 
social  fabric  is  no  stronger  than  its  weakest  thread. 
.  .  .  To  help  and  to  save  for  the  sheer  love  of  helping 
and  saving  is  the  noblest  thing  any  of  us  can  do  — 
I  feel  that.  This  must  be  an  old  story  to  you ;  I  'm 
ashamed  that  I  never  saw  it  all  for  myself.  It's  as 
though  I  had  been  looking  at  the  world  through  a 
blurred  window,  from  a  comfortable  warm  room, 
when  some  one  came  along  and  brushed  the  pane 
clear,  so  that  I  could  see  the  suffering  and  hardship 
outside,  and  feel  my  own  duty  to  go  out  and  help." 

Professor  Kelton,  spending  a  day  in  the  city, 
showed  this  to  Mrs.  Owen  when  she  asked  for  news 
of  Sylvia.  Mrs.  Owen  kept  the  letter  that  John  Ware 
might  see  it.  Ware  said:  "  Deep  nature;  I  knew  that 
night  she  told  me  about  the  stars  that  she  would 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

understand  everything.  You  will  hear  of  her.  Wish 
she  would  come  here  to  live.  We  need  women  like 
that." 

Professor  Kelton  met  Sylvia  in  New  York  on  her 
way  home  for  the  holidays  in  her  freshman  year  and 
they  spent  their  Christmas  together  in  the  cottage. 
She  was  bidden  to  several  social  gatherings  in  Buck 
eye  Lane;  and  to  a  dance  in  town.  She  was  now  Miss 
Garrison,  a  student  at  Wellesley,  and  the  good  men 
and  women  at  Madison  paid  tribute  to  her  new 
dignity.  Something  Sylvia  was  knowing  of  that 
sweet  daffodil  time  in  the  heart  of  a  girl  before  the 
hovering  swallows  dare  to  fly. 

In  the  midyear  recess  of  her  sophomore  year 
she  visited  one  of  her  new  friends  in  Boston  in  a 
charming  home  of  cultivated  people.  The  following 
Easter  vacation  her  grandfather  joined  her  for  a 
flight  to  New  York  and  Washington,  and  this  was 
one  of  the  happiest  of  experiences.  During  the  re 
mainder  of  her  college  life  she  was  often  asked  to  the 
houses  of  her  girl  friends  in  and  about  Boston ;  her 
diffidence  passed;  she  found  that  she  had  ideas  and 
the  means  of  expressing  them.  The  long  summers 
were  spent  at  the  cottage  in  the  Lane;  she  saw  Mrs. 
Owen  now  and  then  with  deepening  attachment,  and 
her  friend  never  forgot  to  send  her  a  Christmas  gift 
—  once  a  silver  purse  and  a  twenty-dollar  gold  piece; 
again,  a  watch  —  always  something  carefully  chosen 
and  practical. 

Sylvia  arranged  to  return  to  college  with  two  St. 
Louis  girls  after  her  senior  Christmas,  to  save  her 
grandfather  the  long  journey,  for  he  had  stipulated 


BLURRED  WINDOWS 

that  she  should  never  travel  alone.  By  a  happy 
chance  Dan  Harwood,  on  his  way  to  Boston  to  de 
liver  an  issue  of  telephone  bonds  in  one  of  Bassett's 
companies,  was  a  passenger  on  the  same  train,  and 
he  promptly  recalled  himself  to  Sylvia,  who  proudly 
presented  him  as  a  Yale  man  to  her  companions.  A 
special  car  filled  with  young  collegians  from  Cincin 
nati  and  the  South  was  later  attached  to  the  train, 
and  Dan,  finding  several  Yalensians  in  the  company, 
including  the  year's  football  hero,  made  them 
all  acquainted  with  Sylvia  and  her  friends.  It  was 
not  till  the  next  day  that  Dan  found  an  opportunity 
for  personal  talk  with  Sylvia,  but  he  had  already 
been  making  comparisons.  Sylvia  was  as  well 
"put  up"  as  any  of  the  girls,  and  he  began  to  note 
her  quick  changes  of  expression,  the  tones  of  her 
voice,  the  grace  of  her  slim,  strong  hands.  He 
wanted  to  impress  himself  upon  her;  he  wanted  her 
to  like  him. 

"News?  I  don't  know  that  I  can  give  you  any 
news.  You  probably  know  that  Mrs.  Owen  went  to 
Fraserville  for  Christmas  with  the  Bassetts?  Let 
me  see,  you  do  know  the  Bassetts,  don't  you?" 

"Yes.  I  was  at  Waupegan  three  summers  ago  at 
Mrs.  Owen's,  and  Mrs.  Bassett  and  all  of  them  were 
very  good  to  me." 

"You  probably  don't  know  that  I  'm  employed  by 
Mr.  Bassett.  He  has  an  office  in  Indianapolis  where 
I  'm  trying  to  be  a  lawyer  and  I  do  small  jobs  for  him. 
I  'm  doing  an  errand  for  him  now.  It  will  be  the  first 
time  I've  been  east  of  the  mountains  since  I  left 
college,  and  I  'm  going  to  stop  at  New  Haven  on  my 

(219) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

way  home  to  see  how  they're  getting  on  without  me. 
By  the  way,  you  probably  know  that  Marian  is 
going  to  college?" 

"No;  I  did  n't  know  it,"  exclaimed  Sylvia.  "But 
I  knew  her  mother  was  interested  and  I  gave  her  a 
Wellesley  catalogue.  That  was  a  long  time  ago!  " 

"That  was  when  you  were  visiting  Mrs.  Owen  at 
Waupegan?  I  see,  said  the  blind  man!" 

"What  do  you  see?"  asked  Sylvia. 

"  I  see  Mrs.  Bassett  and  Marian,  niece  and  grand- 
niece  respectively,  of  Aunt  Sally  Owen;  and  as  I 
gaze,  a  stranger  bound  for  college  suddenly  appears 
on  Mrs.  Owen's  veranda,  in  cap  and  gown.  Tab 
leau!" 

"I  don't  see  the  picture,"  Sylvia  replied,  though 
she  laughed  in  spite  of  herself. 

" I  not  only  see,"  Dan  continued,  "but  I  hear  the 
jingle  of  red,  red  gold,  off  stage." 

This  was  going  a  trifle  too  far.  Sylvia  shook  her 
head  and  frowned. 

"That  isn't  fair,  Mr.  Harwood,  if  I  guess  what 
you  mean.  There 's  no  reason  why  Marian  should  n't 
go  to  college.  My  going  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
You  have  misunderstood  the  whole  matter." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Dan  quickly.  "  I  mean  no  un- 
kindness  to  any  of  them.  They  are  all  very  good  to 
me.  It's  too  bad,  though,  that  Marian's  preparation 
for  college  had  n't  been  in  mind  until  so  recently. 
It  would  save  her  a  lot  of  har4  digging  now.  I  see  a 
good  deal  of  the  family;  and  I'm  even  aware  of 
Marian's  doings  at  Miss  Waring's  school.  Master 
Blackford  beguiles  me  into  taking  him  to  football 

(220) 


BLURRED  WINDOWS 

games,  and  I  often  go  with  all  of  them  to  the  theatre 
when  they  're  in  town.  Mr.  Bassett  is  very  busy,  and 
he  does  n't  often  indulge  himself  in  pleasures.  He's 
the  kind  of  man  whose  great  joy  is  in  work  —  and 
he  has  many  things  to  look  after." 

''You  are  a  kind  of  private  secretary  to  the  whole 
family,  then;  but  you  work  at  the  law  at  the  same 
time?" 

Harwood's  face  clouded  for  a  moment;  she 
noticed  it  and  was  sorry  she  had  spoken ;  but  he  said 
immediately :  — 

"Well,  I  have  n't  had  much  time  for  the  law  this 
winter.  I  have  more  things  to  do  outside  than  I  had 
expected.  But  I  fear  I  need  prodding;  I  'm  too  prone 
to  wander  into  other  fields.  And  I  'm  getting  a  good 
deal  interested  in  politics.  You  know  Mr.  Bassett  is 
one  of  the  leading  men  in  our  state." 

"Yes,  I  had  learned  that;  I  suppose  he  may  be 
Senator  or  Governor  some  day.  That  makes  it  all 
the  more  important  that  Marian  should  be  fitted  for 
high  station." 

"  I  don't  know  that  just  that  idea  has  struck  her ! " 
he  laughed,  quite  cheerful  again.  "It's  too  bad  it 
can't  be  suggested  to  her.  It  might  help  her  with  her 
Latin.  She  tells  me  in  our  confidences  that  she  thinks 
Latin  a  beast.  It's  my  role  to  pacify  her.  But  a  girl 
must  live  up  to  her  mother's  ambitions,  and  Mrs. 
Bassett  is  ambitious  for  her  children.  And  then 
there 's  always  the  unencumbered  aunt  to  please  into 
the  bargain.  Mrs.  Owen  is  shrewd,  wise,  kind.  Since 
that  night  I  saw  you  there  we  Ve  become  pals.  She 's 
the  most  stimulating  person  I  ever  knew.  She  has 

(221) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

talked  to  me  about  you  several  times"  —  Dan 
laughed  and  looked  Sylvia  in  the  eyes  as  though 
wondering  how  far  to  go  —  "and  if  you're  not  the 
greatest  living  girl  you  have  shamefully  fooled  Mrs. 
Owen.  Mr.  Ware,  the  minister,  came  in  one  evening 
when  I  was  there  and  I  never  heard  such  praise  as 
they  gave  you.  But  I  approved  of  it." 

"Oh,  how  nice  of  you!"  said  Sylvia,  in  a  tone  so 
unlike  her  that  Dan  laughed  outright. 

"You  are  the  embodiment  of  loyalty;  but  believe 
me,  I  am  a  loyal  person  myself.  Please  don't  think 
me  a  gossip.  Marian's  mother  still  hopes  to  land  her 
in  college  next  year,  but  she's  the  least  studious  of 
beings;  I  can't  see  her  doing  it.  Mrs.  Bassett's 
never  quite  well,  and  that's  been  bad  for  Marian. 
College  would  be  a  good  thing  for  her.  I  've  seen 
many  soaring  young  autocrats  reduced  to  a  proper 
humility  at  New  Haven,  and  I  dare  say  you  girls 
have  your  own  way  of  humbling  a  proud  spirit." 

11 1  don 't  believe  Marian  needs  humbling;  one  can't 
help  liking  her;  and  she's  ever  so  good  to  look  at." 

"She's  certainly  handsome,"  Dan  admitted. 

"She's  altogether  charming,"  said  Sylvia  warmly; 
"and  she's  young  —  much  younger  than  I  am,  for 
example." 

"  How  old  is  young,  or  how  young  is  old?  I  had  an 
idea  that  you  and  she  were  about  the  same  age." 

"You  flatter  me!  I'm  nearly  four  years  older! 
but  I  suppose  she  seems  much  more  grown-up,  and 
she  knows  a  great  many  things  I  don't." 

"I  dare  say  she  does!"  Dan  laughed.  And  with 
this  they  turned  to  other  matters. 

(222) 


BLURRED  WINDOWS 

Dan  sat  facing  her,  hat  in  hand,  and  as  the  train 
rushed  through  the  Berkshires  Sylvia  formed  new 
impressions  of  him.  She  saw  him  now  as  a  young 
man  of  affairs,  with  errands  abroad  —  this  in  itself 
of  significance;  and  he  had  to  do  with  politics,  a 
subject  that  had  begun  to  interest  Sylvia.  The 
cowlick  where  his  hair  parted  kept  a  stubborn  wisp 
of  brown  hair  in  rebellion,  and  it  shook  amusingly 
when  he  spoke  earnestly  or  laughed.  His  gray  eyes 
were  far  apart  and  his  nose  was  indubitably  a  big 
one.  He  laughed  a  good  deal,  by  which  token  one 
saw  that  his  teeth  were  white  and  sound.  Something 
of  the  Southwestern  drawl  had  survived  his  years  at 
New  Haven,  but  when  he  became  earnest  his  eyes 
snapped  and  he  spoke  with  quick,  nervous  energy, 
in  a  deep  voice  that  was  a  little  harsh.  Sylvia  had 
heard  a  great  deal  about  the  brothers  and  young  men 
friends  of  her  companions  at  college  and  was  now 
more  attentive  to  the  outward  form  of  man  than  she 
had  thought  of  being  before. 

When  they  reached  Boston,  Harwood  took  Sylvia 
and  her  companions  to  luncheon  at  the  Touraine  and 
put  them  on  their  train  for  Wellesley.  His  thought- 
fulness  and  efficiency  could  not  fail  to  impress  the 
young  women.  He  was  an  admirable  cavalier,  and 
Sylvia's  companions  were  delighted  with  him.  He 
threatened  them  with  an  early  visit  to  college,  sug 
gesting  the  most  daring  possibilities  as  to  his  ap 
pearance.  He  repeated,  at  Sylvia's  instigation,  the 
incident  of  the  hearse  horses  at  Poughkeepsie,  with 
new  flourishes,  and  cheerfully  proposed  a  cousinship 
to  all  of  them. 

(223) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Or,  perhaps,"  he  said,  when  he  had  found  seats 
for  them  and  had  been  admonished  to  leave,  "per 
haps  it  would  be  more  in  keeping  with  my  great  age 
to  become  your  uncle.  Then  you  would  be  cousins  to 
each  other  and  we  should  all  be  related." 

Speculations  as  to  whether  he  would  ever  come 
kept  the  young  women  laughing  as  they  discussed 
him.  They  declared  that  the  meeting  on  the  train 
had  been  by  ulterior  design  and  they  quite  exhausted 
the  fun  of  it  upon  Sylvia,  who  gained  greatly  in 
importance  through  the  encounter  with  Harwood. 
She  was  not  the  demure  young  person  they  had 
thought  her ;  it  was  not  every  girl  who  could  produce 
a  personable  young  man  on  a  railway  journey. 

Sylvia  wondered  much  about  Marian  and  drama 
tized  to  herself  the  girl's  arrival  at  college.  It  did 
not  seem  credible  that  Mrs.  Bassett  was  preparing 
Marian  for  college  because  she,  Sylvia  Garrison, 
was  enrolled  there.  Sylvia  was  kindly  disposed 
toward  all  the  world,  and  she  resented  Harwood 's 
insinuations.  As  for  Mrs.  Owen  and  Dan's  intima 
tions  that  Marian  must  be  educated  to  satisfy  the 
great  aunt's  ideals  as  represented  in  Sylvia  —  well, 
Sylvia  had  no  patience  whatever  with  any  such  idea. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

THE  historian  may  not  always  wait  for  the 
last  grain  of  sand  to  mark  the  passing  of  an 
hour;  he  must  hasten  the  flight  of  time  fre 
quently  by  abrupt  reversals  of  the  glass.  Much 
competent  evidence  (to  borrow  from  the  lawyers) 
we  must  reject  as  irrelevant  or  immaterial  to  our 
main  issue.  Harwood  was  admitted  to  practice  in 
the  United  States  courts  midway  of  his  third  year 
in  Bassett's  office.  The  doors  of  the  state  courts 
swing  inward  to  any  Hoosier  citizen  of  good  moral 
character  who  wants  to  practice  law,  —  a  drollery 
of  the  Hoosier  constitution  still  tolerated.  The  hu 
mor  of  being  a  mere  "constitutional"  lawyer  did  not 
appeal  to  Harwood,  who  revered  the  traditions  and 
the  great  names  of  his  chosen  profession,  and  he  had 
first  written  his  name  on  the  rolls  of  the  United 
States  District  Court. 

His  work  for  Bassett  grew  more  and  more  con 
genial.  The  man  from  Eraser  was  concentrating  his 
attention  on  business;  at  least  he  found  plenty  of 
non-political  work  for  Dan  to  do.  After  the  troubled 
waters  in  Ranger  County  had  been  quieted  and  Bas 
sett's  advanced  outpost  in  the  Boordman  Building 
had  ceased  to  attract  newspaper  reporters,  an  im 
portant  receivership  to  which  Bassett  had  been  ap- 

(225) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

pointed  gave  Harwood  employment  of  a  semi-legal 
character.  Bassett  had  been  a  minor  stockholder  in 
a  paper-mill  which  had  got  into  difficulties  through 
sheer  bad  management,  and  as  receiver  he  addressed 
himself  to  the  task  of  proving  that  the  business  could 
be  made  to  pay.  The  work  he  assigned  to  Harwood 
was  to  the  young  man's  liking,  requiring  as  it  did 
considerable  travel,  visits  to  the  plant,  which  was 
only  a  few  hours'  journey  from  the  capital,  and 
negotiations  which  required  the  exercise  of  tact  and 
judgment.  However,  Harwood  found  himself  in- 
eluctably  drawn  into  the  state  campaign  that  fall. 
Bassett  was  deeply  engaged  in  all  the  manoeuvres, 
and  Harwood  was  dispatched  frequently  on  errands 
to  county  chairmen,  and  his  aid  was  welcomed  by 
the  literary  bureau  of  the  state  committee.  He  pre 
pared  a  speech  whose  quality  he  tested  at  small 
meetings  in  his  own  county,  and  his  efforts  having 
been  favorably  received  he  acted  as  a  supply  to  fill 
appointments  where  the  regular  schedule  failed. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  campaign  his  assignments 
increased  until  all  his  time  was  taken.  By  studying 
his  audiences  he  caught  the  trick  of  holding  the  at 
tention  of  large  crowds;  his  old  college  sobriquet  of 
"  Foghorn"  Harwood  had  been  revived  and  the  news 
papers  mentioned  his  engagements  with  a  casualness 
that  implied  fame.  He  enjoyed  his  public  appear 
ances,  and  the  laughter  and  applause  were  sweet  to 
him. 

After  the  election  Bassett  admonished  him  not  to 
neglect  the  law. 

"  I  want  you  to  make  your  way  in  the  profession," 

(226) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

he  said,  "and  not  let  my  affairs  eat  up  all  your  time. 
Give  me  your  mornings  as  far  as  possible  and  keep 
your  afternoons  for  study.  If  at  any  time  you  have 
to  give  me  a  whole  day,  take  the  next  day  for  yourself. 
But  this  work  you  're  doing  will  all  help  you  later. 
Lawyers  these  days  have  got  to  be  business  men ;  you 
understand  that;  and  you  want  to  get  to  the  top." 

Dan  visited  his  parents  and  brothers  as  often  as 
possible  on  the  infertile  Harrison  County  acres,  to 
which  the  mortgage  still  clung  tenaciously.  He  had 
felt  since  leaving  college  that  he  owed  it  to  the  broth 
ers  who  had  remained  behind  to  wipe  out  the  old  har 
assing  debt  as  soon  as  possible.  The  thought  of  their 
struggles  often  made  him  unhappy,  and  he  felt  that 
he  could  only  justify  his  own  desertion  by  freeing 
the  farm.  After  one  of  these  visits  Bassett  drew 
from  him  the  fact  that  the  mortgage  was  about  to 
mature,  and  that  another  of  a  long  series  of  renewals 
of  the  loan  was  necessary.  Bassett  was  at  once  in 
terested  and  sympathetic.  The  amount  of  the  debt 
was  three  thousand  dollars,  and  he  proposed  that 
Dan  discharge  it. 

''I've  never  said  so,  but  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
receivership  I  Ve  intended  paying  you  for  your  ad 
ditional  work.  If  everything  goes  well  my  own  al 
lowance  ought  to  be  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  you  're 
entitled  to  a  share  of  it.  I  '11  say  now  that  it  will  be 
not  less  than  two  thousand  dollars.  I  '11  advance  you 
that  amount  at  once  and  carry  your  personal  note 
for  the  other  thousand  in  the  Fraserville  bank.  It's 
too  bad  you  have  to  use  your  first  money  that  way, 
but  it's  natural  for  you  to  want  to  do  it.  I  see  that 

(227) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

you  feel  a  duty  there,  and  the  folks  at  home  have  had 
that  mortgage  on  their  backs  so  long  that  it 's  taken 
all  the  spirit  out  of  them.  You  pay  the  mortgage 
when  it's  due  and  go  down  and  make  a  little  cele 
bration  of  it,  to  cheer  them  up.  I  '11  carry  that  thou 
sand  as  long  as  you  like." 

Miss  Rose  Farrell,  nigh  to  perishing  of  ennui  in 
the  lonely  office  of  the  absentee  steel  construction 
agents,  had  been  installed  as  stenographer  in  Room 
66  a  year  earlier.  Miss  Farrell  had,  it  appeared, 
served  Bassett  several  terms  as  stenographer  to  one 
of  the  legislative  committees  of  which  he  was  chair 


man. 

M 


You  need  n't  be  afraid  of  my  telling  anything," 
she  said  in  reply  to  Dan's  cautioning.  "  Those  win 
ters  I  worked  at  the  State  House  I  learned  enough  to 
fill  three  penitentiaries  with  great  and  good  men, 
but  you  could  n't  dig  it  out  of  me  with  a  steam 
shovel.  They  were  going  to  have  me  up  before  an 
investigating  committee  once,  but  I  had  burned  my 
shorthand  notes  and  could  n't  remember  a  thing. 
Your  little  Irish  Rose  knows  a  few  things,  Mr.  Har- 
wood.  I  was  on  to  your  office  before  the  *  Adver 
tiser'  sprung  that  story  and  gave  it  away  that  Mr. 
Bassett  had  a  room  here.  I  spotted  the  senator  from 
Eraser  coming  up  our  pedestrian  elevator,  and  I 
know  all  those  rubes  that  have  been  dropping  up 
to  see  him  —  struck  'em  all  in  the  legislature.  He 
won't  tear  your  collar  if  you  put  me  on  the  job.  And 
if  I  do  say  it  myself  I  'm  about  as  speedy  on  the  ma 
chine  as  you  find  'em.  All  your  little  Rose  asks  is 
the  right  to  an  occasional  Wednesday  matinee  when 

(228) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

business  droops  like  a  sick  oleander.  You  need  n't 
worry  about  me  having  callers.  I'm  a  business 
woman,  I  am,  and  I  guess  I  know  what's  proper  in 
a  business  office.  If  I  don't  understand  men,  Mr. 
Harwood,  no  poor  working  girl  does." 

Bassett  was  pleased  with  Dan's  choice  of  a  steno 
grapher.  He  turned  over  to  Rose  the  reading  of  the 
rural  newspapers  and  sundry  other  routine  matters. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  Miss  Farrell's  broad  know 
ledge  of  the  world,  or  of  her  fidelity  to  duty.  Har 
wood  took  early  opportunity  to  subdue  somewhat 
the  pungency  of  the  essences  with  which  she  per 
fumed  herself,  and  she  gave  up  gum-chewing  meekly 
at  his  behest.  She  assumed  at  once  toward  him  that 
maternal  attitude  which  is  peculiar  to  office  girls 
endowed  with  psychological  insight.  He  sought  to 
improve  the  character  of  fiction  she  kept  at  hand  for 
leisure  moments,  and  was  surprised  by  the  aptness 
of  her  comments  on  the  books  she  borrowed  on  his 
advice  from  the  Public  Library.  She  was  twenty- 
four,  tall  and  trim,  with  friendly  blue-gray  eyes  and 
a  wit  that  had  been  sharpened  by  adversity. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Mrs.  Bassett  and  Marian 
found  Harwood  a  convenient  reed  upon  which  to 
lean.  Nor  was  Blackford  above  dragging  his  father's 
secretary  (as  the  family  called  him)  forth  into  the 
bazaars  of  Washington  Street  to  assist  in  the  pur 
chase  of  a  baseball  suit  or  in  satisfying  other  cravings 
of  his  youthful  heart.  Mrs.  Bassett,  scorning  the 
doctors  of  Fraserville,  had  now  found  a  nerve  special 
ist  at  the  capital  who  understood  her  troubles  per 
fectly. 

(229) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Marian,  at  Miss  Waring's  school,  was  supposed 
to  be  preparing  for  college,  though  Miss  Waring 
had  no  illusions  on  the  subject.  Marian  made  Mrs. 
Owen  her  excuse  for  many  absences  from  school: 
what  was  the  use  of  having  a  wealthy  great-aunt 
living  all  alone  in  a  comfortable  house  in  Delaware 
Street  if  one  did  n't  avail  one's  self  of  the  rights  and 
privileges  conferred  by  such  relationship?  When  a 
note  from  Miss  Waring  to  Mrs.  Bassett  at  Fraserville 
conveyed  the  disquieting  news  of  her  daughter's  un 
satisfactory  progress,  Mrs.  Bassett  went  to  town 
and  dealt  severely  with  Marian.  Mrs.  Owen  was 
grimly  silent  when  appealed  to ;  it  had  never  been  her 
idea  that  Marian  should  be  prepared  for  college;  but 
now  that  the  girl's  mother  had  pledged  herself  to 
the  undertaking  Mrs.  Owen  remained  a  passive 
spectator  of  the  struggle.  Mrs.  Owen  was  not  so 
dull  but  that  she  surmised  what  had  inspired  this 
zeal  for  a  collegiate  training  for  Marian;  and  her 
heart  warmed  toward  the  dark  young  person  at 
Wellesley,  such  being  the  contrariety  of  her  kindly 
soul.  To  Miss  Waring,  a  particular  friend  of  hers 
and  one  of  her  admirations,  Mrs.  Owen  said :  — 

"I  want  you  to  do  the  best  you  can  for  Marian, 
now  that  her  mother 's  bitten  with  this  idea  of 
sending  her  to  college.  She's  smart  enough,  I 
guess?" 

"Too  much  smartness  is  Marian's  trouble,"  replied 
Miss  Waring.  "There's  nothing  in  the  gymnasium 
she  can't  do;  she's  become  the  best  French  scholar 
we  ever  had,  but  that's  about  all.  She's  worked 
hard  at  French  because  she  thinks  it  gives  her  a 

(230) 


THE    WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

grand  air.  I  can't  imagine  any  other  reason.  She's 
adorable  and  —  impossible!  " 

"  Do  the  best  you  can  for  her;  I  want  her  to  go  to 
college  if  she  can." 

Miss  Waring  had  the  reputation  of  being  strict, 
yet  Marian  slipped  the  cords  of  routine  and  disci 
pline  with  ease.  She  had  passed  triumphantly  from 
the  kitchen  " fudge"  and  homemade  butterscotch 
period  of  a  girl's  existence  into  the  realm  of  mar- 
rons  glaces.  Nothing  bored  her  so  much  as  the 
afternoon  airings  of  the  school  under  the  eye  of  a 
teacher;  and  these  she  turned  into  larks  when  she 
shared  in  them.  Twice  in  one  winter  she  had  hopped 
upon  a  passing  street  car  and  rolled  away  in  triumph 
from  her  meek  and  horrified  companions  and  their 
outraged  duenna.  She  encouraged  by  means  the 
subtlest,  the  attentions  of  a  strange  young  gentle 
man  who  followed  the  school's  peregrinations  afar 
off.  She  carried  on  a  brief  correspondence  with  this 
cavalier,  a  fence  corner  in  Pennsylvania  Street  serv 
ing  as  post-office. 

Luck  favored  her  astonishingly  in  her  efforts  to 
escape  the  rigors  of  school  discipline.  Just  when  she 
was  forbidden  to  leave  Miss  Waring's  to  spend 
nights  and  Sundays  at  Mrs.  Owen's,  her  mother 
came  to  town  and  opportunely  (for  Marian)  fell  ill, 
at  the  Whitcomb.  Mrs.  Bassett  was  cruising  lan 
guidly  toward  the  sombre  coasts  of  Neurasthenia, 
and  though  she  was  under  the  supervision  of  a 
trained  nurse,  Marian  made  her  mother's  illness  an 
excuse  for  moving  down  to  the  hotel  to  take  care 
of  her.  Her  father,  in  and  out  of  the  city  caring  for 

(231)  • 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

his  multiplying  interests,  objected  mildly  but  ac 
quiesced,  which  was  simpler  and  more  comfortable 
than  opposing  her. 

Having  escaped  from  school  and  established  her 
self  at  the  Whitcomb,  Marian  summoned  Harwood 
to  the  hotel  on  the  flimsiest  pretexts,  many  of 
them  most  ingeniously  plausible.  For  example,  she 
avowed  her  intention  of  carrying  on  her  studies  at 
the  hotel  during  her  enforced  retirement  from  Miss 
Waring's,  and  her  father's  secretary,  being  a  college 
man,  could  assist  her  with  her  Latin  as  well  as  not. 
Dan  set  tasks  for  her  for  a  week,  until  she  wearied  of 
the  pretense.  She  insisted  that  it  was  too  stupid  for 
her  to  go  unattended  to  the  hotel  restaurant  for  her 
meals,  and  it  was  no  fun  eating  in  her  mother's 
room  with  that  lady  in  bed  and  the  trained  nurse 
at  hand;  so  Harwood  must  join  her  for  luncheon  and 
dinner  at  the  Whitcomb.  Mrs.  Owen  was  out  of 
town,  Bassett  was  most  uncertain  in  his  goings  and 
comings,  and  Mrs.  Bassett  was  beyond  Harwood's 
reach,  so  he  obeyed,  not  without  chafing  of  spirit, 
these  commands  of  Marian.  He  was  conscious  that 
people  pointed  her  out  in  the  restaurant  as  Morton 
Bassett' s  daughter,  and  he  did  not  like  the  respons 
ibility  of  this  unauthorized  chaperonage. 

Mrs.  Bassett  was  going  to  a  sanatorium  as  soon  as 
she  was  able  to  move;  but  for  three  weeks  Marian 
was  on  Harwood's  hands.  Her  bland  airs  of  pro 
prietorship  amused  him  when  they  did  not  annoy 
him,  and  when  he  ventured  to  remonstrate  with  her 
for  her  unnecessary  abandonment  of  school  to  take 
care  of  her  mother,  her  pretty  moue  had  mitigated 

(232) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

his  impatience.  She  knew  the  value  of  her  prettiness. 
Dan  was  a  young  man  and  Marian  was  not  without 
romantic  longings.  Just  what  passed  between  her 
and  her  mother  Harwood  could  not  know,  but  the 
hand  that  ruled  indulgently  in  health  had  certainly 
not  gained  strength  in  sickness. 

This  was  in  January  when  the  theatres  were  offer 
ing  an  unusual  variety  of  attractions.  Dan  had  been 
obliged  to  refuse  —  more  harshly  than  was  agree 
able  —  to  take  Marian  to  see  a  French  farce  that 
had  been  widely  advertised  by  its  indecency.  Her 
cool  announcement  that  she  had  read  it  in  French 
did  not  seem  to  Harwood  to  make  an  educational 
matter  of  it;  but  he  was  obliged  finally  to  compro 
mise  with  her  on  another  play.  Her  mother  was  quite 
comfortable,  she  averred;  there  was  no  reason  why 
she  should  not  go  to  the  theatre,  and  she  forced  the 
issue  by  getting  the  tickets  herself. 

That  evening  when  they  reached  their  seats  Dan 
observed  that  Allen  Thatcher  sat  immediately  in 
front  of  them.  He  turned  and  nodded  to  Dan,  and 
his  eyes  took  in  Marian.  In  a  moment  she  mur 
mured  an  inquiry  as  to  who  the  young  man  was;  and 
Harwood  was  aware  thereafter  that  Marian  divided 
her  attention  between  Allen  and  the  stage.  Allen 
turned  once  or  twice  in  the  entr'actes  with  some 
comment  on  the  play,  and  Marian  was  pleased  with 
his  profile;  moreover  he  bore  a  name  with  which  she 
had  long  been  familiar.  As  the  curtain  fell  she  whis 
pered  to  Harwood :  — 

"You  must  introduce  me  to  Mr.  Thatcher, — 
please  —  !  His  father  and  papa  are  friends,  and  I  Ve 

(233) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

heard  so  much  about  the  family  that  I  just  have  to 
know  him." 

Harwood  looked  down  at  her  gravely  to  be  sure 
it  was  not  one  of  her  jokes;  but  she  was  entirely 
serious.  He  felt  that  he  must  take  a  stand  with  her; 
if  her  father  and  mother  were  unaware  of  her  ven 
turesome  nature  he  still  had  his  responsibility,  and 
it  was  not  incumbent  on  him  to  widen  her  acquaint 
ance. 

"No!"  he  said  flatly. 

But  Marian  knew  a  trick  or  two.  She  loitered  by 
her  seat  adjusting  her  wrap  with  unnecessary  de 
liberation.  Allen,  wishing  to  arrange  an  appoint 
ment  with  Dan  for  luncheon  the  next  day,  waited 
for  him  to  come  into  the  aisle.  Dan  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  introducing  his  charge  to  Allen  or  to 
any  one  else,  and  he  stepped  in  front  of  her  to  get 
rid  of  his  friend  with  the  fewest  words  possible. 
But  Marian  so  disposed  herself  at  his  elbow  that  he 
could  not  without  awkwardness  refuse  her. 

She  murmured  Allen's  name  cordially,  leveling  her 
eyes  at  him  smilingly. 

"I've  often  heard  Mr.  Harwood  speak  of  you, 
Mr.  Thatcher!  He  has  a  great  way  of  speaking  of 
his  friends!" 

Allen  was  not  a  forthputting  person,  and  Dan's 
manner  was  not  encouraging;  but  the  trio  remained 
together  necessarily  through  the  aisle  to  the  foyer. 

Marian  took  advantage  of  their  slow  exit  to  dis 
cuss  the  play  and  with  entire  sophistication,  express 
ing  astonishment  that  Allen  was  lukewarn  in  his 
praise  of  it.  He  could  not  agree  with  her  that  the 

(234) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

leading  woman  was  beautiful,  but  she  laughed  when 
he  remarked,  with  his  droll  intonation,  that  the  star 
reminded  him  of  a  dressed-up  mannikin  in  a  cloth 
ing-store  window. 

"That  is  just  the  kind  of  thing  I  imagined  you 
would  say.  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Owen,  says  that  you  al 
ways  say  something  different." 

' *  Oh,  Aunt  Sally !  She 's  the  grandest  of  women.  I 
wish  she  were  my  aunt.  I  have  aunts  I  could  trade 
for  her." 

At  the  door  Allen  paused.  Marian,  running  on 
blithely,  gave  him  no  opportunity  to  make  hisadieux. 

"Oh,  are  n't  you  going  our  way?"  she  demanded, 
in  a  tone  of  invitation. 

"Yes;  come  along;  it's  only  a  step  to  the  hotel 
where  Miss  Bassett  is  staying,"  saidHarwood,  rind 
ing  that  they  blocked  the  entrance  and  not  seeing 
his  way  to  abandoning  Allen  on  the  spot.  He  never 
escaped  the  appeal  that  lay  in  Allen;  he  was  not 
the  sort  of  fellow  one  would  wound ;  and  there  could 
be  no  great  harm  in  allowing  him  to  walk  a  few 
blocks  with  Marian  Bassett,  who  had  so  managed 
the  situation  as  to  make  his  elimination  difficult.  It 
was  a  cold,  clear  night  and  they  walked  briskly  to 
the  Whitcomb.  When  they  reached  the  hotel,  Dan, 
who  had  left  the  conversation  to  Marian  and  Allen, 
breathed  a  sigh  that  his  responsibility  was  at  an 
end.  He  and  Allen  would  have  a  walk  and  talk  to 
gether,  or  they  might  go  up  to  the  Boordman  Build 
ing  for  the  long  lounging  parleys  in  which  Allen  de 
lighted  and  which  Dan  himself  enjoyed.  But  Dan  had 
not  fully  gauged  the  measure  of  Marian's  daring. 

(235) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Won't  you  please  wait  a  minute,  Mr.  Harwood, 
until  I  see  if  poor  mama  needs  anything.  You  know 
we  all  rely  on  you  so.  I  '11  be  back  in  just  a  moment." 

"So  that's  Morton  Bassett's  daughter,"  observed 
Allen  when  Marian  had  fluttered  into  the  elevator. 
"You  must  have  a  lot  of  fun  taking  her  about;  she's 
much  more  grown-up  than  I  had  imagined  from 
what  you've  said.  She's  almost  a  dangerous  young 
person." 

The  young  men  found  seats  and  Allen  nursed  his 
hat  musingly.  He  had  nothing  whatever  to  do,  and 
the  chance  meeting  with  Harwood  was  a  bright  in 
cident  in  a  bleak,  eventless  day. 

"Oh,  she's  a  nice  child,"  replied  Harwood  in 
differently.  "But  she  finds  childhood  irksome.  It 
gives  her  ladyship  a  feeling  of  importance  to  hold 
me  here  while  she  asks  after  the  comfort  of  her 
mother.  I  suppose  a  girl  is  a  woman  when  she  has 
learned  that  she  can  tell  a  man  to  wait." 

"You  should  write  a  book  of  aphorisms  and  call 
it  'The  Young  Lady's  Own  Handbook.'  Perhaps 
I  ought  to  be  skipping." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't!  I  want  you  as  an 
excuse  for  getting  away." 

"I  think  I'd  better  go,"  suggested  Allen.  "I 
can  wait  for  you  in  the  office." 

"Then  I  should  pay  the  penalty  for  allowing  you 
to  escape ;  she  can  be  very  severe ;  she  is  a  much  harder 
taskmaster  than  her  father.  Don't  desert  me." 

Allen  took  this  at  face  value;  and  it  seemed  only 
ordinary  courtesy  to  wait  to  say  good-night  to  a 
young  woman  who  was  coming  back  in  a  moment 

(236) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

to  report  upon  the  condition  of  a  sick  mother.  In 
ten  minutes  Marian  reappeared,  having  left  her 
wraps  behind. 

"  Mama  is  sleeping  beautifully.  And  that's  a  sign 
that  she's  better." 

Here  clearly  was  an  end  of  the  matter,  and  Dan 
had  begun  to  say  good-night;  but  with  the  prettiest 
grace  possible  Marian  was  addressing  Allen:  — 

"I'm  terribly  hungry  and  I  sent  down  an  order 
for  just  the  smallest  supper.  You  see,  I  took  it  for 
granted  that  you  would  both  be  just  as  hungry  as 
I  am,  so  you  must  come  and  keep  me  company." 
And  to  anticipate  the  refusal  that  already  glittered 
coldly  in  Dan's  eye,  she  continued,  "  Mama  does  n't 
like  me  to  be  going  into  the  restaurant  alone,  but 
she  approves  of  Mr.  Harwood." 

The  head  waiter  was  already  leading  them  to  a 
table  set  for  three  in  accordance  with  the  order  Ma 
rian  had  telephoned  from  her  room.  She  had  elimi 
nated  the  possibility  of  discussion,  and  Harwood 
raged  in  his  helplessness.  There  was  no  time  for  a 
scene  even  if  he  had  thought  it  wise  to  precipitate 
one. 

"It's  only  a  lobster,  you  know,"  she  said,  with 
the  careless  ease  of  a  young  woman  quite  habitu 
ated  to  midnight  suppers. 

Harwood's  frown  of  annoyance  had  not  escaped 
her;  but  it  only  served  to  add  to  her  complete  joy 
in  the  situation.  There  were  other  people  about,  and 
music  proceeded  from  a  screen  of  palms  at  the  end 
of  the  dining-room.  Having  had  her  way,  Marian 
nibbled  celery  and  addressed  herself  rather  pointedly 

(237) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

to  Allen,  unmindful  of  the  lingering  traces  of  Har- 
wood's  discomfiture.  By  the  time  the  lobster  was 
served  she  was  on  capital  terms  with  Allen. 

In  his  own  delight  in  Marian,  Allen  failed  utterly 
to  comprehend  Harwood's  gloomy  silence.  Dan 
scarcely  touched  his  plate;  and  he  knew  that  Ma 
rian  was  covertly  laughing  at  him. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Allen,  speaking  directly  to 
Dan,  "we're  having  great  arguments  at  Ltiders's; 
we  turn  the  universe  over  every  day." 

"You  see,  Miss  Bassett,"  Allen  explained  to 
Marian;  "I'm  a  fair  carpenter  and  work  almost 
every  day  at  Louis  Liiders's  shop.  I  earn  a  dollar 
a  day  and  eat  dinner  —  dinner,  mind  you !  —  at 
twelve  o'clock,  out  of  a  tin  pail.  You  can  see  that 
I  'm  a  laboring  man  —  one  of  the  toiling  millions." 

"You  don't  mean  that  seriously,  Mr.  Thatcher; 
not  really!" 

"Oh,  why  will  you  say  that?  Every  one  says  just 
that!  No  one  ever  believes  that  I  mean  what  I  say ! " 

This  was  part  of  some  joke,  Marian  surmised, 
though  she  did  not  quite  grasp  it.  It  was  inconceiv 
able  that  the  son  of  the  house  of  Thatcher  should 
seriously  seek  a  chance  to  do  manual  labor.  Allen  in 
his  dinner  jacket  did  not  look  like  a  laborer:  he  was 
far  more  her  idea  of  a  poet  or  a  musician. 

"I  went  to  Liiders's  house  the  other  evening  for 
supper,"  Allen  was  saying.  "I  rather  put  it  up  to 
him  to  ask  me,  and  he  has  a  house  with  a  garden, 
and  his  wife  was  most  amusing.  We  all  talked 
German,  including  the  kids,  —  three  of  them, 
fascinating  little  fellows.  He's  a  cabinetmaker, 

(238) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

Miss  Bassett,  —  a  producer  of  antiques,  and  a  good 
one;  and  about  the  gentlest  human  being  you  ever 
saw.  He  talks  about  existing  law  as  though  it  were 
some  kind  of  devil,  —  a  monster,  devouring  the 
world's  poor.  But  he  won't  let  his  wife  spank  the 
children,  —  would  n't,  even  when  one  of  them  kicked 
a  hole  in  my  hat!  I  supposed  that  of  course  there 
would  be  dynamite  lying  round  in  tomato  cans; 
and  when  I  shook  the  pepper  box  I  expected  an  ex 
plosion;  but  I  did  n't  see  a  gun  on  the  place.  He's 
beautifully  good-natured,  and  laughed  in  the  great 
est  way  when  I  asked  him  how  soon  he  thought  of 
blowing  up  some  of  our  prominent  citizens.  I  really 
believe  he  likes  me  —  strange  but  true." 

"Better  not  get  in  too  deep  with  those  fellows," 
warned  Dan.  "The  police  watch  Liiders  carefully; 
he's  considered  dangerous.  It's  the  quiet  ones, 
who  are  kind  to  their  families  and  raise  cabbages, 
that  are  the  most  violent." 

"Oh,  Ltiders  says  we've  got  to  smash  everything! 
He  rather  favors  socialism  himself,  but  he  wants 
to  tear  down  the  court-houses  first  and  begin  again." 

"You'd  better  be  careful  or  you'll  land  in  jail, 
Mr.  Thatcher,"  remarked  Marian,  taking  an  olive. 

"Oh,  if  anything  as  interesting  as  that  should 
happen  to  me,  I  should  certainly  die  of  joy!" 

"But  your  family  would  n't  like  it  if  you  went  to 
jail,"  persisted  Marian,  delighting  in  the  confidences 
of  a  young  gentleman  for  whom  jails  had  no  terrors. 

"The  thought  of  my  family  is  disturbing,  it's 
positively  disturbing,"  Allen  replied.  "Liiders  has 
given  me  a  chance  in  his  shop,  and  really  expects  me 

(239) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

to  work.  Surprising  in  an  anarchist;  you'd  rather 
expect  him  to  press  a  stick  of  dynamite  in  your  hand 
and  tell  you  to  go  out  and  blow  up  a  bank.  Ltiders 
has  a  sense  of  humor,  you  know :  hence  the  antiques, 
made  to  coax  money  from  the  purses  of  the  fat 
rich.  There  are  more  ways  than  one  of  being  a  cut- 
purse." 

The  lobster  had  been  consumed,  and  they  were 
almost  alone  in  the  restaurant.  Marian,  with  her 
elbows  on  the  table,  was  in  no  haste  to  leave,  but 
Dan  caught  the  eye  of  the  hovering  waiter  and  paid 
the  check. 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  Marian  pro 
tested;  "it  was  my  party.  I  sign  my  own  checks 
here." 

But  having  now  asserted  himself,  Dan  rose,  and 
in  a  moment  he  and  Allen  had  bidden  her  good-night 
at  the  elevator  door. 

"You  did  n't  seem  crazy  about  your  lobster,  and 
you  were  hardly  more  than  polite  to  our  hostess. 
Sorry  to  have  butted  in.  But  why  have  you  kept 
these  tender  recreations  from  me!" 

"Oh,  that  child  vexes  my  spirit  sometimes.  She's 
bent  on  making  people  do  things  they  don't  want 
to  do.  Of  course  the  lobster  was  a  mere  excuse  for 
getting  acquainted  with  you;  but  you  needn't  be 
too  set  up  about  it:  I  think  her  curiosity  about  your 
family  is  responsible,  —  these  fake  newspaper  stories 
about  your  sister  —  which  is  it,  Hermione  or  Gwen 
dolen — who  is  always  about  to  marry  a  count.  Coun 
tesses  have  n't  been  common  in  Indiana.  We  need 
a  few  to  add  tone  to  the  local  gossip." 

(240) 


THE    WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

"Oh,"  murmured  Allen  dejectedly:  "I'm  sorry 
if  you  did  n't  want  me  in  the  party.  It's  always  the 
way  with  me.  Nobody  ever  really  loves  me  for  my 
self  alone.  What  does  the  adorable  do  besides  mid 
night  lobsters?  I  thought  Aunt  Sally  said  she  was 
at  Miss  Waring's  school." 

' '  She  is,  more  or  less, ' '  growled  Dan.  ' '  Her  mother 
wants  to  put  her  through  college,  to  please  the 
wealthy  great- aunt.  Mrs.  Owen  has  shown  inter 
est  in  another  girl  who  is  now  at  Wellesley;  hence 
Marian  must  go  to  college,  and  the  bare  thought  of 
it  bores  her  to  death.  She's  as  little  adapted  to  a 
course  in  college  as  one  of  those  bright  goddesses 
who  used  to  adorn  Olympus." 

"She  doesn't  strike  me  as  needing  education; 
she's  a  finished  product.  I  felt  very  young  in  the 
divine  presence." 

"She  gives  one  that  feeling,"  laughed  Dan,  his 
mood  of  impatience  dissolving. 

"Who's  this  rival  who  has  made  the  higher 
education  seem  necessary  for  Morton  Bassett's 
daughter?  " 

"She's  an  amazing  girl;  quite  astonishing.  If 
Mrs.  Bassett  were  a  wise  woman  she  would  n't  enter 
Marian  in  competition.  And  besides,  I  think  her 
fears  are  utterly  groundless.  Marian  is  delightful, 
with  her  waywardness  and  high-handedness;  and 
Mrs.  Owen  likes  originals,  not  feeble  imitations.  I 
should  hate  to  try  to  deceive  Mrs.  Sally  Owen  — 
she's  about  the  wisest  person  I  ever  saw." 

"Oh,  Sylvia!  Mrs.  Owen  has  mentioned  her.  The 
girl  that  knows  all  the  stars  and  that  sort  of  thing. 

(240 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

But  where's  Morton  Bassett  in  all  this?  He's  rather 
more  than  a  shadow  on  the  screen?" 

"Same  old  story  of  the  absorbed  American  father 
and  the  mother  with  nerves." 

Two  afternoons  later,  as  Harwood  was  crossing 
University  Park  on  his  way  to  his  boarding-house, 
he  stopped  short  and  stared.  A  little  ahead  of  him 
in  the  walk  strolled  a  girl  and  a  young  man,  laugh 
ing  and  talking  with  the  greatest  animation.  There 
was  no  questioning  their  identity.  It  was  five  o'clock 
and  quite  dark,  and  the  air  was  sharp.  Harwood 
paused  and  waited  for  the  two  loiterers  to  cross 
the  lighted  space  about  the  little  park's  central 
fountain.  It  seemed  incredible  that  Marian  and 
Allen  should  be  abroad  together  in  this  dallying 
fashion.  His  anger  rose  against  Allen,  but  he  curbed 
an  impulse  to  send  him  promptly  about  his  business 
and  take  Marian  back  to  the  Whitcomb.  Mr.  Bas 
sett  was  expected  in  town  that  evening  and  Dan  saw 
his  duty  clearly  in  regard  to  Marian;  she  must  be 
returned  to  school  willy-nilly. 

The  young  people  were  hitting  it  off  wonderfully, 
and  Marian's  laughter  rang  out  clearly  upon  the  win 
ter  air.  Her  tall,  supple  figure,  her  head  capped  with 
a  fur  toque,  and  more  than  all,  the  indubitable  evi 
dence  that  such  a  clandestine  stroll  as  this  gave  her 
the  keenest  delight,  drove  home  to  Harwood  the 
realization  that  Marian  was  no  longer  a  child,  but  a 
young  woman,  obstinately  bent  upon  her  own  way. 
Allen  was  an  ill-disciplined,  emotional  boy,  whose 
susceptibilities  in  the  matter  of  girls  Dan  had  al- 

(242) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

ready  noted.  The  combination  had  its  dangers  and 
his  anger  rose  as  he  followed  them  at  a  safe  distance. 
They  prolonged  their  walk  for  half  an  hour,  com 
ing  at  last  to  the  Whitcomb. 

Harwood  waylaid  Allen  in  the  hotel  office  a  mo 
ment  after  Marian  had  gone  to  her  room.  The  young 
fellow's  cheeks  were  unwontedly  bright  from  the  cold 
or  from  the  excitement  of  his  encounter. 

"Halloa!  I  was  going  to  look  you  up  and  ask  you 
to  have  dinner  with  me." 

"You  were  looking  for  me  in  a  likely  place,"  re 
plied  Harwood  coldly.  "See  here,  Allen,  I  've  been 
laboring  under  the  delusion  that  you  were  a  gentle 


man." 


"Oh!  Have  we  come  to  that?" 

"You  know  better  than  to  go  loafing  through 
town  with  a  truant  school-girl  you  hardly  know.  I 
suppose  it's  my  fault  for  introducing  you  to  her.  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  how  you  managed  this.  Did  you 
telephone  her  or  write  a  note?  Sit  down  here  now 
and  let's  have  it  out." 

They  drew  away  from  the  crowd  and  found  seats 
in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  lobby. 

Harwood,  his  anger  unabated,  repeated  his  ques 
tion. 

"Out  with  it;  just  how  did  you  manage  it?" 

Allen  was  twisting  his  gloves  nervously;  he  had 
not  been  conscious  of  transgressing  any  law,  but  he 
would  not  for  worlds  have  invited  Harwood's  dis 
pleasure.  He  was  near  to  tears;  but  he  remained 
stubbornly  silent  until  Harwood  again  demanded  to 
know  how  he  contrived  the  meeting  with  Marian. 

(243) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"I'm  sorry,  old  man,"  Allen  answered,  "but  I 
can't  tell  you  anything  about  it.  I  don't  see  that 
my  crime  is  so  heinous.  She  has  been  cooped  up  in 
the  hotel  all  day  with  her  sick  mother,  and  a  short 
walk  —  it  was  only  a  few  blocks  —  could  n't  have 
done  her  any  harm.  I  think  you  're  making  too  much 
of  it." 

"You  were  dallying  there  in  the  park,  in  a  way 
to  attract  attention,  with  a  headstrong,  silly  girl  that 
you  ought  to  have  protected  from  that  sort  of  thing. 
You  know  better  than  that." 

Allen,  enfolded  in  his  long  ulster,  shuffled  his  feet 
on  the  tiling  like  a  school-boy  in  disgrace.  Deep 
down  in  his  heart,  Harwood  did  not  believe  that 
Allen  had  proposed  the  walk  to  Marian;  it  was  far 
likelier  that  Marian  had  sought  the  meeting  by  note 
or  telephone.  He  turned  upon  Allen  with  a  slight 
relaxation  of  his  sternness. 

"You  did  n't  write  her  a  note  or  telephone  her,  — 
you  did  n't  do  either,  did  you?" 

Allen,  silent  and  dejected,  dropped  his  gloves  and 
picked  them  up,  the  color  deepening  in  his  cheeks. 

"  I  just  happened  to  meet  her;  that's  all,"  he  said, 
avoiding  Dan's  eyes. 

"She  wrote  you  a  note  or  telephoned  you?" 

Silence. 

"Humph,"  grunted  Harwood. 

"She's  wonderfully  beautiful  and  strong  and  so 
tremendously  vivid!  I  think  those  nice  girls  you 
read  of  in  the  Greek  mythology  must  have  been  like 
that,"  murmured  Allen,  sighing  heavily. 

"  I  dare  say  they  were! "  snapped  Harwood,  search- 

(244) 


THE  WAYS  OF  MARIAN 

ing  the  youngster's  thin,  sensitive  face,  and  meeting 
for  an  instant  his  dreamy  eyes.  He  was  touched 
anew  by  the  pathos  in  the  boy,  whose  nature  was  a 
light  web  of  finespun  golden  cords  thrilling  to  any 
breath  of  fancy.  The  superb  health,  the  dash  and 
daring  of  a  school-girl  that  he  had  seen  but  once  or 
twice,  had  sent  him  climbing  upon  a  frail  ladder  of 
romantic  dreams. 

Harwood  struck  his  hands  together  sharply.  If 
he  owed  a  duty  to  Marian  and  her  family,  not  less 
he  was  bound  to  turn  Allen's  thoughts  into  safe 
channels. 

"Of  course  it  would  n't  do  —  that  sort  of  thing, 
you  know,  Allen.  I  did  n't  mean  to  beat  you  into 
the  dust.  Let's  go  over  to  Pop  June's  and  get  some 
oysters.  I  don't  feel  up  to  our  usual  boarding-house 
discussion  of  Christian  Science  to-night." 

At  the  first  opportunity  Dan  suggested  to  Bassett, 
without  mentioning  Marian's  adventure  with  Allen, 
that  the  Whitcomb  was  no  place  for  her,  and  that 
her  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  his  own  tutorship 
was  the  merest  farce;  whereupon  Bassett  sent  her 
back  immediately  to  Miss  Waring's. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   PASSING   OF   ANDREW   KELTON 

ANDREW  KELTON  died  suddenly,  near  the 
end  of  May,  in  Sylvia's  senior  year  at  col 
lege.  The  end  came  unexpectedly,  of  heart 
trouble.  Harwood  read  of  it  in  the  morning  news 
paper,  and  soon  after  he  reached  his  office  Mrs.  Owen 
called  him  on  the  telephone  to  say  that  she  was  going 
to  Montgomery  at  once,  and  asking  him  to  meet 
Sylvia  as  she  passed  through  Indianapolis  on  her 
way  home.  Both  of  the  morning  papers  printed 
laudatory  articles  on  Kelton;  he  had  been  held  in 
high  esteem  by  all  the  friends  of  Madison  College, 
and  his  name  was  known  to  educators  throughout 
the  country. 

On  the  same  afternoon  Bassett  appeared  in  town 
on  the  heels  of  a  letter  saying  that  Dan  need  not 
expect  him  until  the  following  week. 

"Thought  I'd  better  see  Fitch  about  some  re 
ceiver  business,  so  I  came  down  a  little  ahead  of 
time.  What's  new?" 

"Nothing  very  exciting.  There's  a  good  deal  of 
political  buzz,  but  I  don't  believe  anything  has 
happened  that  you  don't  know.  From  the  way 
candidates  are  turning  up  for  state  office  our  fellows 
must  think  they  have  a  chance  of  winning."  . 

Bassett  was  unfailingly  punctilious  in  forecasting 

(246) 


THE  PASSING  OF  ANDREW  KELTON 

his  appearances  in  town,  and  his  explanation  that 
legal  matters  had  brought  him  down  was  not  wholly 
illuminative.  Dan  knew  that  the  paper-mill  re 
ceivership  was  following  its  prescribed  course,  and 
he  was  himself,  through  an  arrangement  made  by 
Bassett,  in  touch  with  Fitch  and  understood  the 
legal  status  of  the  case  perfectly.  As  Bassett  passed 
through  the  library  to  his  own  room  he  paused  to 
indulge  in  a  moment's  banter  with  Miss  Farrell.  It 
was  not  until  he  had  opened  his  desk  that  he  replied 
to  Harwood's  remark. 

"A  few  good  men  on  our  ticket  might  pull  through 
next  time,  but  it  will  take  us  a  little  longer  to  get  the 
party  whipped  into  shape  again  and  strong  enough 
to  pull  a  ticket  through.  But  hope  springs  eternal. 
You  have  noticed  that  I  don't  talk  on  national  affairs 
when  the  reporters  come  to  me.  In  the  state  com 
mittee  I  tell  them  to  put  all  the  snap  they  can  into 
the  county  organizations,  and  try  to  get  good  men  on 
local  tickets.  When  the  boys  out  West  get  tired  of 
being  licked  we  will  start  in  again  and  do  business  at 
the  old  stand.  I  've  always  taken  care  that  they 
should  n't  have  a  chance  to  attack  my  regularity." 

"I've  just  been  reading  a  book  of  Cleveland's 
speeches,"  remarked  Dan. 

''Solemn,  but  sound.  He  will  undoubtedly  go 
down  as  one  of  the  great  Presidents.  I  think  Repub 
licans  and  men  of  all  sorts  of  political  ideas  will  come 
to  that." 

"But  I  don't  feel  that  all  this  radicalism  is  a 
passing  phase.  It's  eating  deeply  into  the  Republi 
cans  too.  We  're  on  the  eve  of  a  revival  of  patriotism, 

(247) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  party  names  don't  mean  what  they  did.  But  I 
believe  the  Democratic  Party  is  still  the  best  hope  of 
the  people,  even  when  the  people  go  clean  off  their 
heads." 

11  You  believe  in  Democracy,  but  you  doubt  some 
times  whether  the  Democratic  Party  is  really  the 
custodian  of  the  true  faith  of  Democracy  —  is  that 
it?" 

"That's  exactly  it.  And  my  young  Republican 
friends  feel  the  same  way  about  their  party." 

"Well,  I  guess  I  stand  about  where  you  do.  I 
believe  in  parties.  I  don't  think  there's  much  gained 
by  jumping  around  from  one  party  to  another;  and 
independent  movements  are  as  likely  to  do  harm  as 
good.  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you  that  I  had  a 
good  notion  to  join  the  Democratic  schism  in  '96, 
and  support  Palmer  and  Buckner.  But  I  did  n't,  and 
I  'm  not  sorry  I  kept  regular  and  held  on.  I  believed 
the  silver  business  would  pass  over;  and  it's  out  of 
sight.  They  charged  me  with  voting  the  Republican 
ticket  in  '96 ;  but  that 's  a  lie.  I 've  never  scratched  a 
ticket  since  I  first  voted,  and  "  —  Bassett  smiled  his 
grim  smile  —  "  I  've  naturally  voted  for  a  good  many 
rascals.  By  the  way,  how  much  are  you  seeing  of 
Atwill?" 

"I  make  a  point  of  seeing  him  once  a  week  or 
oftener.  When  I  'm  downtown  at  night  I  usually 
catch  him  for  a  late  supper." 

"The  '  Courier '  is  regular,  all  right  enough.  It 's  a 
good  property,  and  when  our  party  gets  through 
chasing  meadow-larks  and  gets  down  to  business 
again  it  will  be  more  valuable.  Was  that  your  ed- 

(248) 


THE  PASSING  OF  ANDREW  KELTON 

itorial  yesterday  on  municipal  government?  Good. 
I  'm  for  trying  some  of  these  new  ideas.  I  Ve  been 
reading  a  lot  of  stuff  on  municipal  government 
abroad,  and  some  of  those  foreign  ideas  we  ought  to 
try  here.  I  want  the  '  Courier '  to  take  the  lead  in 
those  things;  it  may  help"  —  and  Bassett  smiled  — 
"  it  may  help  to  make  the  high  brows  see  that  ours 
has  really  been  the  party  of  progress  through  these 
years  when  it's  marched  backward." 

Bassett  swung  round  slowly  until  his  gaze  fell 
upon  the  map,  reminding  the  young  man  of  Thatch 
er's  interest  in  that  varicolored  oblong  of  paper. 
Dan  had  never  mentioned  Thatcher's  visit  to  the  of 
fice,  feeling  that  if  the  capitalist  were  really  the  bold 
man  he  appeared  to  be,  he  would  show  his  hand  to 
Bassett  soon  enough.  Moreover,  Harwood's  confid 
ence  in  Bassett's  powers  had  never  wavered ;  in  the 
management  of  the  paper-mill  receivership  the 
senator  from  Fraser  had  demonstrated  a  sagacity 
and  resourcefulness  that  had  impressed  Dan  anew. 
Bassett  possessed,  in  unusual  degree,  the  astuteness 
and  executive  force  of  the  successful  American  busi 
ness  man,  and  his  nice  feeling  for  the  things  that 
interest  cultivated  people  lifted  him  far  above  the 
common  type  of  political  boss.  Dan  had  yet  to  see 
a  demonstration  of  Bassett's  political  venality;  the 
bank  and  his  other  interests  at  Fraserville  were 
profitable.  It  must  be  a  craving  for  power,  not 
money,  Dan  reasoned,  that  led  Bassett  into  poli 
tics.  Bassett  turned  to  his  desk  with  some  letters  he 
had  taken  from  his  pocket.  It  occurred  to  Dan  that 
as  Mrs.  Owen  had  suggested  that  he  accompany 

(249) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Sylvia  to  Montgomery,  it  would  be  well  to  mention 
the  possibility  of  his  leaving  town  for  a  day. 

"Mrs.  Owen  telephoned  me  this  morning  of  Pro 
fessor  Kelton's  death.  You  probably  read  of  it  in 
to-day's  papers.  Mrs.  Owen  is  an  old  friend  of  his, 
and  went  to  Montgomery  on  the  noon  train.  She 
asked  me  to  meet  the  Professor's  granddaughter, 
Miss  Garrison,  when  she  comes  through  here  in  the 
morning  on  her  way  home.  I  know  her  slightly,  and 
I  think  I  'd  better  go  over  to  Montgomery  with  her, 
if  you  don't  mind." 

"Yes,  certainly;  I  was  sorry  to  read  of  Kelton's 
death.  Mrs.  Owen  will  feel  it  deeply.  It's  a  blow  to 
these  old  people  when  one  of  them  drops  out  of  the 
ranks.  I  'm  glad  the  '  Courier '  printed  that  capital 
sketch  of  him;  much  better  than  the  'Advertiser's/ 
While  I  think  of  it,  I  wish  you  would  tell  Atwill  that 
I  like  the  idea  of  saying  a  word  editorially  for  these 
old  citizens  as  they  leave  us.  It  gives  the  paper  tone, 
and  I  like  to  show  appreciation  of  fine  characters  like 
Kelton." 

Bassett  had  turned  round  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 
He  unfolded  it  slowly  and  went  on,  scanning  it  as  he 
talked. 

"  I'm  sorry  I  never  knew  Kelton.  They  say  he  was 
a  very  able  mathematician  and  astronomer.  It's 
rather  remarkable  that  we  should  have  kept  him  in 
Indiana.  I  suppose  you  may  have  seen  him  at  Mrs. 
Owen's;  they  had  a  common  tie  in  their  Kentucky 
connections.  I  guess  there's  no  tie  quite  like  the 
Kentucky  tie,  unless  it's  the  Virginian." 

He  seemed  absorbed  in  the  letter  —  one  of  a 

(250) 


THE  PASSING  OF  ANDREW  KELTON 

number  he  had  taken  from  his  bag;  then  he  glanced 
up  as  though  waiting  for  Dan's  reply. 

"No,  I  never  saw  him  at  Mrs.  Owen's;  but  I  did 
meet  him  once,  in  Montgomery.  He  was  a  fine  old 
gentleman.  You  would  hardly  imagine  him  ever  to 
have  been  a  naval  officer;  he  was  quite  the  elderly, 
spectacled  professor  in  his  bearing  and  manner." 

"I  suppose  even  a  man  bred  to  the  sea  loses  the 
look  of  a  sailor  if  he  lives  inland  long  enough," 
B asset t  observed. 

11 1  think  my  brief  interview  with  him  rather  indi 
cated  that  he  had  been  a  man  of  action  —  the  old 
discipline  of  the  ship  may  have  been  in  that,"  re 
marked  Harwood.  Then,  fearing  that  he  might  be 
laying  himself  open  to  questions  that  he  should  have 
to  avoid  answering,  he  said:  "Kelton  wrote  a  good 
deal  on  astronomical  subjects,  and  his  textbooks 
have  been  popular.  Sylvia  Garrison,  the  grand 
daughter,  is  something  of  a  wonder  herself." 

"Bright  girl,  is  she?" 

"Quite  so;  and  very  nice  to  look  at.  I  met  her  on 
the  train  when  I  went  to  Boston  with  those  bonds  in 
January.  She  was  going  back  to  college  after  the 
holidays.  She's  very  interesting  —  quite  different." 

"Different?"  repeated  Bassett  vaguely,  dropping 
back  in  his  chair,  but  again  referring  absently  to  the 
letter. 

"Yes,"  Dan  smiled.  "She  has  a  lot  of  individual 
ity.  She's  a  serious  young  person;  very  practical- 
minded,  I  should  say.  They  tell  me  she  walks 
through  mathematics  like  a  young  duchess  through 
the  minuet.  Some  other  Wellesley  girls  were  on  the 

(251) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

train  and  they  did  not  scruple  to  attribute  miracu 
lous  powers  to  her;  a  good  sign,  other  girls  liking  her 
so  much.  They  were  very  frank  in  their  admiration." 

"  Mrs.  Owen  had  her  at  Waupegan  several  years 
ago,  and  my  wife  and  Marian  met  her  there.  Mrs. 
Bassett  was  greatly  impressed  by  her  fine  mind.  It 
seems  to  me  I  saw  her,  too,  that  summer;  but  of 
course  she  's  grown  up  since  then." 

He  glanced  at  Harwood  as  though  for  confirma 
tion  of  these  details,  but  Dan's  thoughts  were  else 
where.  He  was  thinking  of  Sylvia  speeding  home 
ward,  and  of  the  little  cottage  beside  the  campus. 
His  subsequent  meetings  with  Sylvia  had  caused  a 
requickening  of  all  the  impressions  of  his  visit  to 
Professor  Kelton,  and  he  had  been  recalling  that 
errand  again  to-day.  The  old  gentleman  had  given 
his  answer  with  decision ;  Harwood  recalled  the  crisp 
biting-off  of  the  negative,  and  the  Professor  had 
lifted  his  head  slightly  as  he  spoke  the  word.  Dan 
remembered  the  peace  of  the  cottage,  the  sweet 
scents  of  June  blowing  through  the  open  windows; 
and  he  remembered  Sylvia  as  she  had  opened  the 
door,  and  their  colloquy  later,  on  the  campus. 

"You'd  better  go  to  Montgomery  with  Miss 
Garrison  and  report  to  Mrs.  Owen  for  any  service 
you  may  render  her.  Does  the  old  gentleman's 
death  leave  the  girl  alone?" 

"Quite  so,  I  think.  She  had  lived  with  him  nearly 
all  her  life.  The  papers  mentioned  no  other  near 
relatives." 

"  I  '11  be  in  town  a  day  or  two.  You  do  what  you 
can  over  there  for  Mrs.  Owen." 

(252) 


THE  PASSING  OF  ANDREW  KELTON 

That  evening,  returning  to  the  office  to  clear  off 
his  desk  in  preparation  for  his  absence  the  next  day, 
Dan  found  Bassett  there.  This  was  unusual;  Bas- 
sett  rarely  visited  the  office  at  night.  He  had  evi 
dently  been  deeply  occupied  with  his  thoughts,  for 
when  Dan  entered  he  was  sitting  before  his  closed 
desk  with  his  hat  on.  He  nodded,  and  a  few  moments 
later  passed  through  the  library  on  his  way  out. 

11  Suppose  I  won't  see  you  to-morrow.  Well,  I'm 
going  to  be  in  town  a  few  days.  Take  your  time." 

Dan  Harwood  never  doubted  that  he  loved  Sally 
Owen  after  that  dark  day  of  Sylvia's  home-coming. 
From  the  time  Sylvia  stepped  from  the  train  till  the 
moment  when,  late  that  same  afternoon,  just  as  the 
shadows  were  gathering,  Andrew  Kelton  was  buried 
with  academic  and  military  honors  befitting  his  two 
fold  achievements,  Mrs.  Owen  had  shown  the  tender 
ness  of  the  gentlest  of  mothers  to  the  forlorn  girl. 
The  scene  at  the  grave  sank  deep  into  Dan's  memory 
—  the  patriarchal  figure  of  Dr.  Wandless,  with  the 
faculty  and  undergraduates  ranged  behind  him ;  the 
old  minister's  voice  lifted  in  a  benediction  that 
thrilled  with  a  note  of  triumphant  [faith ;  and  the 
hymn  sung  by  the  students  at  the  end,  boys'  voices, 
sweet  and  clear,  floating  off  into  the  sunset.  And 
nothing  in  Dan's  life  had  ever  moved  him  so  much  as 
when  Mrs.  Owen,  standing  beside  Sylvia  and  repre 
senting  in  her  gaunt  figure  the  whole  world  of  love 
and  kindness,  bent  down  at  the  very  end  and  kissed 
the  sobbing  girl  and  led  her  away. 

Harwood  called  on  Mrs.  Owen  at  the  cottage  in 

(253) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Buckeye  Lane  that  evening.  She  came  down  from 
Sylvia's  room  and  met  him  in  the  little  library, 
which  he  found  unchanged  from  the  day  of  his  visit 
five  years  before. 

"That  little  girl  is  a  hero,"  she  began.  "I  guess 
she's  about  the  lonesomest  girl  in  the  world  to-night. 
Andrew  Kelton  was  a  man  and  a  good  one.  He 
had  n't  been  well  for  years,  the  doctor  tells  me;  trou 
ble  with  his  heart,  but  he  kept  it  to  himself;  did  n't 
want  to  worry  the  girl.  I  tell  you  everything  helps 
at  a  time  like  this.  Admiral  Martin  came  over  to 
represent  the  Navy,  and  you  saw  the  G.  A.  R.  there; 
it  caught  me  in  the  throat  when  the  bugle  blew  good 
night  for  Andrew.  Sylvia  will  rally  and  go  on  and 
do  some  big  thing.  It's  in  her.  I  reckon  she'll  have 
to  go  back  to  college,  this  being  her  last  year.  Too 
bad  the  commencement's  all  spoiled  for  her." 

"Yes;  she  won't  have  much  heart  for  it;  but  she 
must  get  her  degree." 

"She '11  need  a  rest  after  this.  I  '11  go  back  with  her, 
and  then  I  'm  going  to  take  her  up  to  Waupegan  with 
me  for  the  summer.  There  are  some  things  to  settle 
about  her,  and  I  'm  glad  you  stayed.  Andrew  owned 
this  house,  but  I  should  n't  think  Sylvia  would  want 
to  keep  it:  houses  in  a  town  like  this  are  a  nuisance 
if  you  don't  live  where  you  can  watch  the  tenants," 
she  went  on,  her  practical  mind  asserting  itself. 

"  I  suppose  — "  Dan  began  and  then  hesitated.  It 
gave  him  a  curious  feeling  to  be  talking  of  Sylvia's 
affairs  in  this  way. 

"Go  on,  Daniel,"  —  this  marked  a  departure ;  she 
had  never  called  him  by  his  first  name  before.  " I'm 

(254) 


THE  PASSING  OF  ANDREW  KELTON 

closer  to  that  girl  than  anybody,  and  I'm  glad  to 
talk  to  you  about  her  affairs." 

"I  suppose  there  will  be  something  for  her;  she's 
not  thrown  on  her  own  resources?" 

"I  guess  he  did  n't  make  any  will,  but  what  he 
left  is  Sylvia's.  He  had  a  brother  in  Los  Angeles, 
who  died  ten  years  ago.  He  was  a  rich  man,  and  left 
a  big  fortune  to  his  children.  If  there's  no  will 
there'll  have  to  be  an  administrator.  Sylvia's  of 
age  and  she  won't  need  a  guardian." 

Dan  nodded.  He  knew  Mrs.  Owen  well  enough  by 
this  time  to  understand  that  she  usually  perfected 
her  plans  before  speaking,  and  that  she  doubtless  had 
decided  exactly  how  Andrew  Kelton's  estate  should 
be  administered. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  the  court  to  appoint  you  ad 
ministrator,  Daniel.  You  ever  acted?  Well,  you 
might  as  well  have  the  experience.  I  might  take  it 
myself,  but  I  'm  pretty  busy  and  there  '11  be  some 
running  back  and  forth  to  do.  You  come  back  in 
a  day  or  two  and  we  '11  see  how  things  stand  by  that 
time.  As  soon  as  Sylvia  gets  rested  she'll  go  back 
to  college  to  finish  up,  and  then  come  to  me  for  the 


summer." 


"She  might  not  like  my  having  anything  to  do 
with  her  affairs,"  Dan  suggested.  "I  shouldn't 
want  to  seem  to  be  intruding." 

"Oh,  Sylvia  likes  you  well  enough.  The  main 
thing  is  getting  somebody  that  you  've  got  confidence 
in.  I  know  some  people  here,  and  I  guess  the  court 
will  do  about  what  we  want." 

"  I  should  have  to  come  over  here  frequently  until 

(255) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

everything  was  settled/'  Dan  added,  thinking  of  his 
duties  in  the  city.  "  I  suppose  if  you  find  it  possible 
for  me  to  serve  that  I  shall  have  to  get  Mr.  Bassett's 
consent;  he  pays  for  my  time,  you  know." 

"That 's  right,  you  ask  him;  but  be  sure  to  tell 
him  that  I  want  it  to  be  that  way.  Morton  won't 
make  any  fuss  about  it.  I  guess  you  do  enough  work 
for  him.  What's  he  paying  you,  Daniel?" 

"Eighteen  hundred  since  he  got  the  paper-mill 
receivership." 

She  made  no  comment,  but  received  the  intelli 
gence  in  silence.  He  knew  from  the  characteristic 
quick  movement  of  her  eyelids  that  she  was  ponder 
ing  the  equity  of  this  carefully;  and  his  loyalty  to 
Bassett  asserting  itself,  he  added,  defensively:  — 

"It's  more  than  I  could  begin  to  make  any  other 
way;  and  he's  really  generous  about  my  time  —  he's 
made  it  plain  that  he  wants  me  to  keep  up  my  read 
ing." 

"They  don't  read  much  after  they're  admitted, 
do  they?  I  thought  when  you  got  admitted  you 
knew  it  all." 

"Not  if  you  mean  to  be  a  real  lawyer,"  said  Dan, 
smiling. 

"Well,  I  guess  you  had  better  go  now.  I  don't 
want  to  leave  Sylvia  alone  up  there,  poor  little  girl. 
I  '11  let  you  know  when  to  come  back." 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB 

THAT  'S  all  right.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you 
serve  Mrs.  Owen  in  any  way.  It's  a  good 
deal  of  a  compliment  that  she  thought  of 
you  in  that  connection.  Go  ahead,  and  call  on  me 
if  I  can  help  you.  You'll  have  to  furnish  local 
bondsmen.  See  what's  required  and  let  me  know." 
Such  was  Bassett's  reply  when  Harwood  asked 
his  permission  to  serve  as  administrator  of  Andrew 
Kelton's  estate.  Bassett  was  a  busy  man,  and  his 
domestic  affairs  often  gave  him  concern.  He  had 
talked  to  Harwood  a  good  deal  about  Marian,  several 
times  in  fits  of  anger  at  her  extravagance.  His  wife 
retired  fitfully  to  sanatoriums,  and  he  had  been 
obliged  to  undertake  the  supervision  of  his  children's 
schooling.  Blackford  was  safe  for  the  time  in  a  mili 
tary  school,  and  Marian  had  been  tutored  for  a  year 
at  home.  The  idea  of  a  college  course  for  Marian 
had  been,  since  Sylvia  appeared,  a  mania  with  Mrs. 
Bassett.  Marian  had  not  the  slightest  interest  in 
the  matter,  and  Bassett  was  weary  of  the  struggle, 
and  sick  of  the  idea,  that  only  by  a  college  career  for 
her  could  Mrs.  Owen's  money  be  assured  to  his  chil 
dren.  Mrs.  Bassett  being  now  at  a  rest  cure  in  Con 
necticut,  and  Bassett,  much  away  from  home,  and 
seeing  nothing  to  be  gained  by  keeping  his  daughter 

(257) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

at  Fraserville,  had  persuaded  Miss  Waring  to  take 
her  as  a  special  student,  subject  to  the  discipline  of 
the  school,  but  permitted  to  elect  her  own  studies. 
It  was  only  because  Bassett  was  a  man  she  liked  to 
please  that  the  principal  accepted  Marian,  now  eigh 
teen  years  old,  on  this  anomalous  basis.  Marian  was 
relieved  to  find  herself  freed  of  the  horror  of  college, 
but  she  wished  to  be  launched  at  once  upon  a  social 
career;  and  the  capital  and  not  Fraserville  must  be 
the  scene  of  her  introduction.  Bassett  was  merely 
tiding  over  the  difficult  situation  until  his  wife 
should  be  able  to  deal  with  it.  Marian  undoubtedly 
wheedled  her  father  a  good  deal  in  the  manner  of 
handsome  and  willful  daughters.  She  had  rarely 
experienced  his  anger;  but  the  remembrance  of 
these  occasions  rose  before  her  as  the  shadowy 
background  of  any  filial  awe  she  may  be  said  to 
have  had. 

Bassett  asked  Dan  to  accompany  him  and  Mar 
ian  to  the  Country  Club  for  dinner  one  evening 
while  Harwood  still  waited  for  Mrs.  Owen's  sum 
mons  to  Montgomery.  Picking  up  Marian  at  Miss 
Waring's,  they  drove  out  early  and  indulged  in  a 
loitering  walk  along  the  towpath  of  the  old  canal, 
not  returning  to  the  clubhouse  until  after  seven. 
When  they  had  found  a  table  on  the  veranda,  Dan 
turned  his  head  slightly  and  saw  Thatcher,  Allen, 
and  Pettit,  the  Fraserville  editor,  lounging  in  after- 
dinner  ease  at  a  table  in  a  dim  corner. 

"Why,  there's  Mr.  Thatcher,"  exclaimed  Marian. 
"And  if  that  is  n't  Mr.  Pettit!  I  did  n't  know  he  ever 
broke  into  a  place  like  this." 

(258) 


A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB 

They  all  bowed  to  the  trio.  Thatcher  waved  his 
hand. 

"Mr.  Pettit,"  observed  Bassett  dryly,  "is  a  man 
of  the  world  and  likely  to  break  in  anywhere." 

His  manner  betrayed  no  surprise;  he  asked  Marian 
to  order  dinner,  and  bowed  to  a  tableful  of  golfers, 
where  an  acquaintance  was  whispering  his  name  to 
some  guests  from  out  of  town. 

It  was  the  least  bit  surprising  that  the  Honorable 
Isaac  Pettit  should  be  dining  at  the  Country  Club 
with  Mr.  Edward  Thatcher,  and  yet  it  was  possible 
to  read  too  much  seriousness  into  the  situation.  Har- 
wood  was  immensely  interested,  but  he  knew  it 
was  Basse tt's  way  to  betray  no  trepidation  at  even 
such  a  curious  conjunction  of  planets  as  this.  Dan 
was  in  fact  relieved  that  Bassett  had  found  the  men 
together:  Bassett  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  and 
might  make  what  he  pleased  of  this  sudden  inti 
macy. 

Marian  had  scorned  the  table  d'hote  dinner,  and 
was  choosing,  from  the  "special"  offerings,  green 
turtle  soup  and  guinea  fowl,  as  affording  a  pleasant 
relief  from  the  austere  regimen  of  Miss  Waring's 
table.  The  roasting  of  the  guinea  hen  would  re 
quire  thirty  minutes  the  waiter  warned  them,  but 
Bassett  made  no  objection.  Marian  thereupon  inter 
jected  a  postscript  of  frogs'  legs  between  soup  and 
roast,  and  Bassett  cheerfully  acquiesced. 

"You  seem  to  be  picking  the  most  musical  birds 
offered,"  he  remarked  amiably.  "I  don't  believe 
I'd  eat  the  rest  of  the  olives  if  I  were  you." 

"Why  doesn't  Allen  Thatcher  come  over  here 

(259) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  speak  to  us,  I'd  like  to  know,"  asked  Marian. 
"You  would  n't  think  he'd  ever  seen  us  before." 

The  three  men  having  dined  had,  from  appear 
ances,  been  idling  at  the  table  for  some  time.  Pettit 
was  doing  most  of  the  talking,  regaling  his  two  audi 
tors  with  tales  from  his  abundant  store  of  anecdotes. 
At  the  end  of  a  story  at  which  Thatcher  had  guffawed 
loudly,  they  rose  and  crossed  the  veranda.  Hearing 
them  approaching,  Bassett  rose  promptly,  and  they 
shook  hands  all  round. 

If  there  were  any  embarrassments  in  the  meeting 
for  the  older  men,  it  was  concealed  under  the  cordial 
ity  of  their  greetings.  Pettit  took  charge  of  the  situa 
tion. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  boomed,  "I  might Ve  known  that 
if  I  came  to  town  and  broke  into  sassiety  I'd  get 
caught  at  it;  you  can't  get  away  from  home  folks! 
Thatcher  has  filled  me  amply  with  expensive  urban 
food  in  this  sylvan  retreat  —  nectar  and  ambrosia. 
I  'm  even  as  one  who  drinks  deep  of  the  waters  of 
life  and  throws  the  dipper  in  the  well.  Just  come 
to  town  and  wander  from  the  straight  and  narrow 
path  and  your  next-door  neighbor  will  catch  you 
every  time.  Fact  is  I  lectured  on  'American  Humor' 
in  Churubusco  last  night  and  am  lifting  the  spirits 
of  Brazil  to-morrow.  This  will  be  all  from  Ike  Pettit, 
the  Fraserville  funny  man,  until  the  wheat's  safe 
and  our  Chautauquas  pitch  their  tents  in  green 
fields  far  away.  Reminds  me  of  what  Dan  Voorhees 
said  once,  —  dear  old  Dan  Voorhees,  —  I  almost  cry 
when  I  think  o'  Dan:  well,  as  I  was  saying  — " 

"  Did  n't  know  you  were  in  town,  Mort,"  Thatcher 

(260) 


A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB 

interrupted.  "  I  've  been  in  Chicago  a  week  and  only 
got  back  this  evening.   I  found  your  esteemed  fellow 
townsman  about  to  hit  a  one-arm  lunch  downtown 
and  thought  it  best  to  draw  him  away  from  the  lights  . 
of  the  great  city." 

This  was  apology  or  explanation,  as  one  chose  to 
take  it.  Bassett  was  apparently  unmoved  by  it. 

"I've  been  in  town  a  day  or  two.  I  don't  live 
in  sleeping-cars  the  way  you  do,  Ed.  I  keep  to  the 
main  traveled  road  —  the  straight  and  narrow  path, 
as  our  brother  calls  it,"  said  Bassett. 

"Well,  I  'm  going  to  quit  working  myself  to  death. 
It's  getting  too  hot  for  poker,  and  I  'm  almost  driven 
to  lead  a  wholesome  life.  The  thought  pains  me, 
Mort." 

Marian  had  opened  briskly  upon  Allen.  She  wanted 
to  know  whether  he  had  passed  the  school  the  night 
before  with  a  girl  in  a  blue  hat ;  she  had  been  sure  it 
was  he,  and  his  denial  only  intensified  her  belief 
that  she  had  seen  him.  She  had  wagered  a  box  of 
caramels  with  her  roommate  that  it  was  Allen;  how 
dare  he  deny  it  and  cause  her  to  lose  a  dollar  of  her 
allowance?  Allen  said  the  least  he  could  do  would 
be  to  send  the  candy  himself;  a  proposition  which 
she  declared,  in  a  horrified  whisper,  he  must  put 
from  his  thoughts  forever.  Candy,  it  appeared,  was 
contraband  at  Miss  Waring's!  Bassett,  ignoring 
the  vivacious  colloquy  between  his  daughter  and 
Allen,  continued  to  exchange  commonplaces  with 
Thatcher  and  Pettit.  Marian's  ease  of  manner 
amused  Harwood;  Allen  was  bending  over  her  in 
his  eager  way;  there  was  no  question  but  that  he 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

admired  her  tremendously.  The  situation  was  greatly 
to  her  liking,  and  she  was  making  the  most  of  it.  It 
was  in  her  eye  that  she  knew  how  to  manage  men. 
Seeing  that  Mr.  Thatcher  was  edging  away,  she 
played  upon  him  to  delay  his  escape. 

"I  wish  you  would  come  up  to  Waupegan  this 
summer,  Mr.  Thatcher.  You  and  father  are  such 
friends,  and  we  should  all  be  so  glad  to  have  you 
for  a  neighbor.  There  are  always  houses  to  be  rented, 
you  know." 

"Stranger  things  have  happened  than  that,  Miss 
Marian,"  replied  Thatcher,  eying  her  boldly  and 
quite  satisfied  with  her  appearance.  "  My  women 
folks  want  Allen  and  me  to  come  across  for  the 
summer;  but  we  like  this  side  of  the  big  water. 
Little  Old  United  States  —  nothing  touches  it! 
Allen  and  I  may  take  a  run  up  into  Canada  sometime 
when  it  gets  red  hot." 

"  Reminds  me  —  speaking  of  the  heat  —  back  in 
the  Hancock  campaign  -  '  Pettit  was  beginning, 
but  Thatcher  was  leaving  and  the  editor  and  Allen 
followed  perforce.  In  a  moment  they  heard  Thatch 
er's  voice  peremptorily  demanding  his  motor  from 
the  steps  of  the  entrance. 

"Pettit's  lecture  dates  must  be  multiplying," 
observed  Dan  carelessly. 

'They  seem  to  be,"Bassett  replied,  indifferently. 

"  I  can  find  out  easily  enough  whether  he  lectured 
at  Churubusco  last  night  or  not,  or  is  going  to  invade 
Brazil  to-morrow,"  Dan  suggested. 

"Easy,  but  unnecessary.  I  think  I  know  what's 
in  your  mind,"  Bassett  answered,  as  Marian,  inter- 

(262) 


A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB 

ested  in  the  passing  show,  turned  away,  "but  it 
is  n't  of  the  slightest  importance  one  way  or  an 
other." 

"That  was  Miss  Bosworth,"  announced  Marian 
—  "  the  one  in  the  white  flannel  coat;  she's  certainly 
grand  to  look  at." 

"Please  keep  your  eyes  to  the  front,"  Bassett 
admonished;  "you  mustn't  stare  at  people,  Ma 
rian."  And  then,  having  dismissed  Pettit,  and  feeling 
called  upon  to  bring  his  daughter  into  the  conversa 
tion,  he  said:  "Marian,  you  remember  the  Miss 
Garrison  your  aunt  is  so  fond  of?  Her  grandfather 
died  the  other  day  and  Miss  Garrison  had  to  come 
home.  Your  Aunt  Sally  is  in  Montgomery  with  her 
now.  Mr.  Harwood  went  to  the  funeral." 

"That's  too  bad,"  said  Marian,  at  once  inter 
ested.  "Sylvia's  a  mighty  nice  girl,  and  I  guess  her 
grandfather  had  just  about  raised  her,  from  what 
she  told  me.  I  wonder  what  she's  going  to  do?" 
she  asked,  turning  to  Harwood. 

"She's  going  back  to  college  to  take  her  degree, 
and  then  Mrs.  Owen  is  going  to  have  her  at  Wau- 
pegan  this  summer." 

"Oh!  I  didn't  know  Aunt  Sally  was  going  to 
open  her  house  this  summer!"  said  Marian,  clearly 
surprised.  "  It  must  be  just  that  she  wants  to  have 
Sylvia  with  her.  They're  the  best  kind  of  pals,  and 
of  course  Aunt  Sally  and  the  old  professor  were 
friends  all  their  lives.  I'm  glad  Sylvia's  going  to 
be  at  the  lake;  she  will  help  some,"  she  concluded. 

"You  don't  mean  that  you're  tired  of  the  lake?" 
asked  Harwood,  noting  the  half-sigh  with  which 

(263) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

she  had  concluded.  "  I  thought  all  Waupegan  people 
preferred  it  to  the  Maine  coast  or  Europe." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  they  do,"  said  Marian.  "But  I 
think  I  could  live  through  a  season  somewhere  else. 
It  will  be  good  fun  to  have  Aunt  Sally's  house  open 
again.  She  must  be  making  money  out  of  that  farm 
now.  I  suppose  Sylvia's  grandfather  did  n't  have 
much  money.  Still  Sylvia  's  the  kind  of  girl  that 
would  n't  much  mind  not  having  money.  She  is  n't 
much  for  style,  but  she  does  know  an  awful  lot." 

"Don't  you  think  a  girl  may  be  stylish  and  know 
a  lot,  too?"  asked  her  father. 

"I  suppose  it  is  possible,"  the  girl  assented,  with 
a  reluctance  that  caused  both  men  to  laugh. 

"Let  me  see:  Papa,  you  did  n't  see  Sylvia  that 
summer  she  was  at  the  lake.  That  was  the  summer 
you  played  a  trick  on  us  and  only  spent  a  day  at 
Waupegan.  Yes;  I  remember  now;  you  came  home 
from  Colorado  and  said  hello  and  skipped  the  next 
morning.  Of  course  you  did  n't  see  Sylvia." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  did,"  replied  Bassett.  "  I  remember  her 
very  well,  indeed.  I  quite  agree  with  your  mother 
and  Aunt  Sally  that  she  is  an  exceedingly  fine 
girl." 

"She  certainly  discouraged  me  a  good  deal  about 
college.  Four  years  of  school  after  you  're  seventeen 
or  eighteen!  Not  for  Marian!"  and  she  shook  her 
head  drolly. 

Bassett  was  either  absorbed  in  thought  or  he  chose 
to  ignore  Marian's  remark.  He  was  silent  for  some 
time,  and  the  girl  went  on  banteringly  with  Har- 
wood.  She  availed  herself  of  all  those  immunities 

(264) 


A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB 

and  privileges  which  the  gods  confer  upon  young 
women  whom  they  endow  with  good  looks.  In  the 
half-freedom  of  the  past  year  she  had  bought  her 
own  clothes,  with  only  the  nominal  supervision  of 
Miss  Waring's  assistant;  and  in  her  new  spring  rai 
ment  she  was  very  much  the  young  lady,  and  de 
cidedly  a  modish  one.  Dan  glanced  from  her  to  the 
young  people  at  a  neighboring  table.  Among  the 
girls  in  the  party  none  was  prettier  or  more  charm 
ingly  gowned  than  Marian.  In  the  light  of  this 
proximity  he  watched  her  with  a  new  attention,  and 
he  saw  that  her  father,  too,  studied  her  covertly,  as 
though  realizing  that  he  had  a  grown  daughter  on 
his  hands.  Her  way  with  Harwood  was  not  without 
coquetry;  she  tapped  his  arm  with  her  fan  lightly 
when  he  refused  to  enter  into  a  discussion  of  his 
attentions,  of  which  she  protested  she  knew  much,  to 
Miss  Bosworth.  He  admitted  having  called  on  Miss 
Bosworth  once;  her  brother  was  a  Yale  man,  and  had 
asked  him  to  the  house  on  the  score  of  that  tie;  but 
Marian  knew  much  better.  She  was  sure  that  he  was 
devoting  himself  to  Miss  Bosworth;  every  one  said 
that  he  was  becoming  a  great  society  man. 

She  had  wearied  of  his  big-brother  attitude  toward 
her.  Except  the  callow  youth  of  Fraserville  and  the 
boys  she  had  known  all  the  summers  of  her  life  at 
Waupegan,  Harwood  and  Allen  Thatcher  were  the 
only  young  men  she  knew.  In  her  later  freedom  at 
school  she  had  made  the  office  telephone  a  nuisance 
to  him,  but  he  sympathized  with  her  discreetly  in  her 
perplexities.  Several  times  she  had  appealed  to  him 
to  help  her  out  of  financial  difficulties,  confiding  to 

(265) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

him  tragically  that  if  certain  bills  reached  Fraser- 
ville  she  would  be  ruined  forever. 

Marian  found  the  Country  Club  highly  diverting; 
it  gave  her  visions  of  the  social  life  of  the  capital  of 
which  she  had  only  vaguely  dreamed.  She  knew 
many  people  by  sight  who  were  socially  prominent, 
and  she  longed  to  be  of  their  number.  It  pleased  her 
to  find  that  her  father,  who  was  a  non-resident 
member  and  a  rare  visitor  at  the  club,  attracted  a 
good  deal  of  attention ;  she  liked  to  think  him  a  celeb 
rity.  The  Speaker  of  the  House  in  the  last  session  of 
the  general  assembly  came  out  and  asked  Bassett  to 
meet  some  men  with  whom  he  had  been  dining  in  the 
rathskeller;  while  her  father  was  away,  Marian,  with 
elbows  resting  on  the  table,  her  firm,  round  chin 
touching  her  lightly  interlaced  fingers,  gave  a  cap 
ital  imitation  of  a  girl  making  herself  agreeable  to  a 
young  man.  Dan  was  well  hardened  to  her  cajoleries 
by  this  time;  he  was  confident  that  she  would  have 
made  "sweet  eyes  at  Caliban."  Harwood,  smoking 
the  cigar  Bassett  had  ordered  for  him,  compared 
favorably  with  other  young  men  who  had  dawned 
upon  Marian's  horizon.  Like  most  Western  boys 
who  go  East  to  college,  he  had  acquired  the  habit  of 
careful  pressing  and  brushing  and  combing;  his  lean 
face  had  a  certain  distinction,  and  he  was  unfailingly 
courteous  and  well-mannered. 

"This  will  be  tough  on  mama,"  she  observed 
casually. 

"Pray,  be  more  explicit!" 

"Oh,  Aunt  Sally  having  Sylvia  up  there  at  the 
lake  again." 

(266) 


A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB 

"Why  should  n't  she  have  her  there  if  she  wants 
her?  I  thought  your  mother  admired  Sylvia.  I 
gathered  that  ray  of  light  somewhere,  from  you  or 
Mrs.  Owen." 

"Oh,  mama  was  beautiful  to  her;  but  I  shall 
always  think,  just  between  you  and  me  and  that 
spoon,  that  it  was  Aunt  Sally  asking  Sylvia  to  the 
lake  that  time  that  gave  mama  nervous  prostration." 

"  Nonsense!  I  advise  you,  as  an  old  friend,  not  to 
say  such  things:  you'd  better  not  even  think  them." 

"Well,  it  was  after  that,  when  she  saw  that  Aunt 
Sally  had  taken  up  Sylvia,  that  mama  got  that  bug 
about  having  me  go  to  college.  She  got  the  notion 
that  it  was  Sylvia's  intellectual  gifts  that  interested 
Aunt  Sally;  and  mama  thought  I  'd  better  improve 
my  mind  and  get  into  the  competition." 

"You  thought  your  mother  was  jealous?  I  call 
that  very  unkind ;  it 's  not  the  way  to  speak  of  your 
mother." 

"Well,  if  you  want  to  be  nasty  and  lecture  me,  go 
ahead,  Mr.  Harwood.  You  must  like  Sylvia  pretty 
well  yourself;  you  took  her  back  to  college  once  and 
had  no  end  of  a  lark,  —  I  got  that  from  Aunt  Sally,  so 
you  need  n't  deny  it." 

"Humph!  Of  course  I  like  Sylvia;  any  one's 
bound  to." 

"But  if  Aunt  Sally  leaves  her  all  her  money,  just 
because  she's  so  bright,  and  educated,  and  cuts  me 
off,  then  what  would  be  the  answer?" 

"  I  should  n't  have  anything  to  say  about  it;  it 
would  be  Mrs.  Owen  that  did  the  saying,"  laughed 
Dan.  "Why  did  n't  you  meet  the  competition  and 

(267) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

go  to  college?  You  have  brains,  but  you  don't  seem 
interested  in  anything  but  keeping  amused." 

"I  suppose,"  she  answered  petulantly,  "it  would 
please  you  to  see  me  go  to  teaching  a  kindergarten  or 
something  like  that.  Not  for  Marian!  I  'm  going  to 
see  life  -  "  and  she  added  ruefully  —  "if  I  get  the 
chance!  Why  doesn't  papa  leave  Fraserville  and 
come  to  the  city?  They  say  he  can  have  any  political 
office  he  wants,  and  he  ought  to  run  for  governor  or 
something  like  that,  just  on  my  account." 

"  I  dare  say  he's  just  waiting  for  you  to  suggest  it. 
Why  not  the  presidency?  You  could  get  a  lot  of  fun 
out  of  the  White  House,  ordering  the  army  around, 
and  using  the  battleships  to  play  with.  The  govern 
orship  and  trifles  like  that  would  only  bore  you." 

41  Don't  be  silly.  The  newspapers  print  most 
horrible  things  about  papa  — " 

"Which  aren't  true." 

"Of  course  they're  newspaper  lies;  but  if  he  lets 
them  say  all  those  things  he  ought  to  get  something 
to  pay  for  it.  He's  only  a  state  senator  from  the 
jayest  county  in  Indiana.  It  makes  me  tired." 

The  girl's  keen  penetration  had  often  surprised 
and  it  had  sometimes  appalled  Harwood  in  the  curi 
ous  intimacy  that  had  grown  up  between  them.  Her 
intuitions  were  active  and  she  had  a  daring  imagina 
tion.  He  wondered  whether  Bassett  was  fully  aware 
of  the  problem  Marian  presented.  Dan  had  never 
ventured  to  suggest  a  sharper  discipline  for  the  girl, 
except  on  the  occasion  when  he  had  caught  her 
walking  with  Allen  in  the  park.  He  had  regretted 
his  interference  afterward;  for  Bassett's  anger  had 

(268) 


A  SURPRISE  AT  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB 

seemed  to  him  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  offense. 
Like  most  indifferent  or  indulgent  parents,  Bassett 
was  prone  to  excesses  in  his  fitful  experiments  in 
discipline.  Dan  had  resolved  not  to  meddle  again; 
but  Marian  was  undeniably  a  provoking  young 
person.  It  had  been  suggested  to  him  of  late  by  one 
or  two  of  his  intimates  that  in  due  course  of  events  he 
would  of  course  marry  his  employer's  daughter.  As 
she  faced  him  across  the  table,  the  pink  light  of  the 
candle-shade  adding  to  the  glow  of  health  in  her 
pretty  cheeks,  she  caused  him  to  start  by  the  abrupt 
ness  with  which  she  said :  — 

"  I  don't  see  much  ahead  of  me  but  to  get  married ; 
do  you?" 

"If  you  put  it  up  to  me,  I  don't  see  anything  ahead 
of  you,  unless  you  take  a  different  view  of  life;  you 
never  seem  to  have  a  serious  though t." 

"  Mr.  Harwood,  you  can  be  immensely  unpleasant 
when  you  choose  to  be.  You  talk  to  me  as  though  I 
were  only  nine  years  old.  You  ought  to  see  that  I  'm 
very  unhappy.  I  'm  the  oldest  girl  at  Miss  Waring's 
—  locked  up  there  with  a  lot  of  little  pigeons  that 
coo  every  time  you  look  at  them.  They  treat  me  as 
though  I  were  their  grandmother." 

"Why  don't  you  say  all  these  things  to  your 
father?"  asked  Harwood,  trying  to  laugh.  "I  dare 
say  he'll  do  anything  you  like.  But  please  cheer  up; 
those  people  over  there  will  think  we're  having  a 
terrible  quarrel." 

The  fact  that  they  were  drawing  the  glances  of 
Miss  Bosworth's  party  pleased  her;  she  had  been 
perfectly  conscious  of  it  all  the  time. 

(269) 


A  HOOSIER    CHRONICLE 

"  Well,  they  won't  think  you  're  making  love  to  me, 
Mr.  Harwood ;  there 's  that  to  console  you."  And  she 
added  icily,  settling  back  in  her  chair  as  her  father 
approached,  "I  hope  you  understand  that  I'm  not 
even  leading  you  on!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 
"STOP,  LOOK,  LISTEN" 

BASSETT  and  Atwill  held  a  conference  the 
next  day  and  the  interview  was  one  of  length. 
The  manager  of  the  "Courier"  came  to  the 
office  in  the  Boordman  Building  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  when  Harwood  went  to  luncheon  at  one  the  door 
had  not  been  opened.  Miss  Farrell,  returning  from 
her  midday  repast,  pointed  to  the  closed  door,  lifted 
her  brows,  and  held  up  her  forefinger  to  express 
surprise  and  caution.  Miss  Farrell's  prescience  was 
astonishing;  of  women  she  held  the  lightest  opinion, 
Dan  had  learned ;  her  concern  was  with  the  affairs  of 
men.  Harwood,  intent  upon  the  compilation  of  a 
report  of  the  paper-mill  receivership,  was  neverthe 
less  mindful  of  the  unwonted  length  of  the  confer 
ence.  When  he  returned  from  luncheon,  Bassett  had 
gone,  but  he  reappeared  at  three  o'clock,  and  a  little 
later  Atwill  came  back  and  the  door  closed  again. 
This  second  interview  was  short,  but  it  seemed  to 
leave  Bassett  in  a  meditative  frame  of  mind.  Wish 
ing  to  discuss  some  points  in  the  trial  balance  of  the 
receiver's  accountant,  Harwood  entered  and  found 
Bassett  with  his  hat  on,  slowly  pacing  the  floor. 

"Yes;  all  right;  come  in,"  he  said,  as  Harwood 
hesitated.  He  at  once  addressed  himself  to  the  reports 
with  his  accustomed  care.  Bassett  carried  an  im- 

(271) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

mense  amount  of  data  in  his  head.  He  understood 
bookkeeping  and  was  essentially  thorough.  Dan  con 
stantly  found  penciled  calculations  on  the  margins 
of  the  daily  reports  from  the  paper-mill,  indicating 
that  Bassett  scrutinized  the  figures  carefully,  and  he 
promptly  questioned  any  deviation  from  the  estab 
lished  average  of  loss  and  gain.  Bassett  threw  down 
his  pencil  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  and  told  Dan 
to  proceed  with  the  writing  of  the  report. 

"  I  'd  like  to  file  it  personally  so  I  can  talk  over  the 
prospect  of  getting  an  order  of  sale  before  the  judge 
goes  on  his  vacation.  We've  paid  the  debts  and 
stopped  the  flow  of  red  ink,  so  we're  about  ready  to 
let  go." 

While  they  were  talking  Miss  Farrell  brought  in 
a  telegram  for  Harwood;  it  was  the  summons  from 
Mrs.  Owen  that  he  had  been  waiting  for;  she  bade 
him  come  to  Montgomery  the  next  day.  He  handed 
the  message  to  Bassett. 

"  Go  ahead.  I  '11  go  over  there  if  you  like  and  find 
you  the  necessary  bondsmen.  I  know  the  judge  of 
the  circuit  court  at  Montgomery  very  well.  You  go 
in  the  morning?  Very  well;  I'll  stay  here  till  you 
get  back.  Mrs.  Bassett  will  be  well  enough  to  leave 
the  sanatorium  in  a  few  days,  and  I  'm  going  up  to 
Waupegan  to  get  the  house  ready." 

"It  will  be  pleasant  for  Mrs.  Bassett  to  have  Mrs. 
Owen  there  this  summer.  Anybody  is  lucky  to  have 
a  woman  of  her  qualities  for  a  neighbor." 

" She's  a  noblewoman,"  said  Bassett  impressively, 
"and  a  good  friend  to  all  of  us." 

On  the  train  the  next  morning  Harwood  unfolded 

(272) 


STOP,   LOOK,   LISTEN 

the  day's  ' '  Courier ' '  in  the  languidly  critical  frame  of 
mind  that  former  employees  of  newspapers  bring  to 
the  reading  of  the  journals  they  have  served.  He 
scanned  the  news  columns  and  opened  to  the  edi 
torial  page.  The  leader  at  once  caught  his  eye.  It 
was  double-leaded,  —  an  emphasis  rarely  employed 
at  the  "  Courier"  office,  and  was  condensed  in  a  sin 
gle  brief  paragraph  that  stared  oddly  at  the  reader 
under  the  caption  "STOP,  LOOK,  LISTEN."  It  held 
Harwood's  attention  through  a  dozen  amazed  and 
mystified  readings.  It  ran  thus:  — 

It  has  long  been  Indiana's  proud  boast  that  money 
unsupported  by  honest  merit  has  never  intruded  in 
her  politics.  A  malign  force  threatens  to  mar  this  re 
cord.  It  is  incumbent  upon  honest  men  of  all  parties 
who  have  the  best  interests  of  our  state  at  heart  to 
stop,  look,  listen.  The  COURIER  gives  notice  that  it 
is  fully  advised  of  the  intentions,  and  perfectly  aware 
of  the  methods,  by  which  the  fair  name  of  the  Hoo- 
sier  State  is  menaced.  The  COURIER,  being  thor 
oughly  informed  of  the  beginnings  of  this  movement, 
whose  purpose  is  the  seizure  of  the  Democratic 
Party,  and  the  manipulation  of  its  power  for  private 
ends,  will  antagonize  to  the  utmost  the  element  that 
has  initiated  it.  Honorable  defeats  the  party  in  Indi 
ana  has  known,  and  it  will  hardly  at  this  late  day 
surrender  tamely  to  the  buccaneers  and  adventurers 
that  seek  to  capture  its  battleflag.  This  warning  will 
not  be  repeated.  Stop!  Look!  Listen! 

From    internal    evidence    Harwood    placed    the 

(273) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

authorship  readily  enough :  the  paragraph  had  been 
written  by  the  chief  editorial  writer,  an  old  hand  at 
the  game,  who  indulged  frequently  in  such  terms  as 
"adventurer"  and  " buccaneer."  It  was  he  who 
wrote  sagely  of  foreign  affairs,  and  once  caused 
riotous  delight  in  the  reporters'  room  by  an  editorial 
on  Turkish  politics,  containing  the  phrase,  "We 
hope  the  Sultan  -  But  not  without  special 
authority  would  such  an  article  have  been  planted 
at  the  top  of  the  editorial  page,  and  beyond  doubt 
these  lines  were  the  residuum  of  Bassett's  long  inter 
view  with  Atwill.  And  its  aim  was  unmistakable: 
Mr.  Bassett  was  thus  paying  his  compliments  to 
Mr.  Thatcher.  The  encounter  at  the  Country  Club 
might  have  precipitated  the  crisis,  but,  knowing 
Bassett,  Dan  did  not  believe  that  the  "Courier's" 
batteries  would  have  been  fired  on  so  little  provoca 
tion.  Bassett  was  not  a  man  to  shoot  wildly  in  the 
dark,  nor  was  he  likely  to  fire  at  all  without  being 
sure  of  the  state  of  his  ammunition  chests.  So,  at 
least,  Harwood  reasoned  to  himself.  Several  of  his  t 
fellow  passengers  in  the  smoking-car  were  passing 
the  "Courier"  about  and  pointing  to  the  editorial. 
All  over  Indiana  it  would  be  the  subject  of  discus 
sion  for  a  long  time  to  come;  and  Dan's  journalistic 
sense  told  him  that  in  the  surrounding  capitals  it 
would  not  be  ignored. 

"If  Thatcher  and  Bassett  get  to  fighting,  the 
people  may  find  a  chance  to  sneak  in  and  get  some 
thing,"  a  man  behind  Dan  was  saying. 

"Nope,"  said  another  voice;  "there  won't  be  'no 
core'  when  those  fellows  get  through  with  the  apple." 

(274) 


STOP,   LOOK,   LISTEN 

"I  can  hear  the  cheering  in  the  Republican  camp 
this  morning,"  remarked  another  voice  gleefully. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  said  still  another  speaker;  "Bassett 
will  simply  grind  Thatcher  to  powder.  Thatcher 
has  n't  any  business  in  politics  anyhow  and  does  n't 
know  the  game.  By  George,  Bassett  does!  And  this 
is  the  first  time  he's  struck  a  full  blow  since  he  got 
behind  the  'Courier.'  Something  must  have  made 
him  pretty  hot,  though,  to  have  let  off  a  scream  like 
that." 

Harwood  was  interested  in  these  remarks  because 
they  indicated  a  prevalent  impression  that  Bassett 
dominated  the  "Courier,"  in  spite  of  the  mystery 
with  which  the  ownership  of  the  paper  was  envel 
oped.  The  only  doubt  in  Harwood's  own  mind  had 
been  left  there  by  Bassett  himself.  He  recalled  now 
Bassett's  remark  on  the  day  he  had  taken  him  into 
his  confidence  in  the  Ranger  County  affair.  "I 
might  have  some  trouble  in  proving  it  myself," 
Bassett  had  said.  Harwood  thought  it  strange  that 
after  that  first  deliberate  confidence  and  his  intro 
duction  to  Atwill,  Bassett  had,  in  this  important 
move,  ignored  him.  It  was  possible  that  his  rela 
tions  with  Allen  Thatcher,  which  Bassett  knew  to  be 
intimate,  accounted  for  the  change;  or  it  might  be 
due  to  a  lessening  warmth  in  Bassett's  feeling  toward 
him.  He  recalled  now  that  Bassett  had  lately 
seemed  moody,  —  a  new  development  in  the  man 
from  Eraser,  —  and  that  he  had  several  times  been 
abrupt  and  unreasonable  about  small  matters  in  the 
office.  Certain  incidents  that  had  appeared  trivial  at 
the  time  of  their  occurrence  stood  forth  disquietingly 

(275) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

now.  If  Bassett  had  ceased  to  trust  him,  there  must 
be  a  cause  for  the  change;  slight  manifestations  of 
impatience  in  a  man  so  habitually  calm  and  rational 
might  be  overlooked,  but  Dan  had  not  been  pre 
pared  for  this  abrupt  cessation  of  confidential  rela 
tions.  He  was  a  bit  piqued,  the  more  so  that  this 
astounding  editorial  indicated  a  range  and  depth  of 
purpose  in  Bassett's  plans  that  Dan's  imagination 
had  not  fathomed.  He  tore  out  the  editorial  and  put 
it  away  carefully  in  his  pocketbook  as  Montgomery 
was  called. 

A  messenger  was  at  the  station  to  guide  him  to  the 
court-house,  where  he  found  Mrs.  Owen  and  Sylvia 
waiting  for  him  in  the  private  room  of  the  judge  of 
the  circuit  court.  Mrs.  Owen  had,  in  her  thorough 
fashion,  arranged  all  the  preliminaries.  She  had 
found  in  Akins,  the  president  of  the  Montgomery 
National  Bank,  an  old  friend,  and  it  was  her  way  to 
use  her  friends  when  she  needed  them.  At  her  in 
stance,  Akins  and  another  resident  freeholder  had 
already  signed  the  bond  when  Dan  arrived.  Dan  was 
amused  by  the  direct  manner  in  which  Mrs.  Owen 
addressed  the  court;  the  terminology  pertaining  to 
the  administration  of  estates  was  at  her  fingers' 
ends,  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  the  judge  was 
impressed  by  her. 

' 'We  won't  need  any  lawyer  over  here,  Daniel; 
you  can  save  the  estate  lawyer's  fees  by  acting  your 
self.  I  guess  that  will  be  all  right,  Judge?" 

His  Honor  said  it  would  be ;  people  usually  yielded 
readily  to  Mrs.  Owen's  suggestions. 

"You  can  go  up  to  the  house  now,  Sylvia,  and  I  '11 

(276) 


STOP,  LOOK,  LISTEN 

be  along  pretty  soon.  I  want  to  make  a  memoran 
dum  for  an  inventory  with  Daniel." 

At  the  bank  Akins  gave  them  the  directors*  room, 
and  Andrew  Kelton's  papers  were  produced  from  his 
box  in  the  safety  vault.  Akins  explained  that  Kelton 
had  been  obliged  to  drop  life  insurance  policies  for  a 
considerable  amount;  only  one  policy  for  two  thou 
sand  dollars  had  been  carried  through.  There  were  a 
number  of  contracts  with  publishers  covering  the 
copyrights  in  Kelton's  mathematical  and  astronomi 
cal  textbooks.  The  royalties  on  these  had  been 
diminishing  steadily,  the  banker  said,  and  they 
could  hardly  be  regarded  as  an  asset. 

"Life  insurance  two  thousand,  contracts  nothing, 
and  the  house  is  worth  two  with  good  luck.  Take  it 
all  in  —  and  I  reckon  this  is  all  —  we  '11  be  in  luck  to 
pinch  a  little  pin-money  out  of  the  estate  for  Sylvia. 
It's  more  than  I  expected.  You  think  there  ain't 
anything  else,  Mr.  Akins?" 

"The  Professor  talked  to  me  about  his  affairs  fre 
quently,  and  I  have  no  reason  to  think  there's  any 
thing  more.  He  had  five  thousand  dollars  in  govern 
ment  bonds,  but  he  sold  them  and  bought  shares  in 
that  White  River  Canneries  combination,  A  lot  of 
our  Montgomery  people  lost  money  in  that  scheme. 
It  promised  fifteen  per  cent  —  with  the  usual 
result." 

"Yes.  Andrew  told  me  about  that  once.  Well, 
well!" 

"He  had  money  to  educate  his  granddaughter;  I 
don't  know  how  he  raised  it,  but  he  kept  it  in  a 
special  account  in  the  bank.  He  told  me  that  if  he 

(277) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

died  before  she  finished  college  that  was  to  be  ap 
plied  strictly  to  her  education.  There  is  eight  hun 
dred  dollars  left  of  that." 

"  Sylvia's  going  to  teach,"  said  Mrs.  Owen.  "I've 
been  talking  to  her  and  she's  got  her  plans  all  made. 
She's  got  a  head  for  business,  that  girl,  and  nothing 
can  shake  her  idea  that  she's  got  a  work  to  do  in 
the  world.  She  knows  what  she 's  going  to  do  every 
day  for  a  good  many  years,  from  the  way  she  talks. 
I  had  it  all  fixed  to  take  her  with  me  up  to  Wau- 
pegan  for  the  summer;  thought  she'd  be  ready  to 
take  a  rest  after  her  hard  work  at  college,  and  this 
blow  of  her  grandpa  dying  and  all;  but  not  that  girl! 
She's  going  to  spend  the  summer  taking  a  normal 
course  in  town,  to  be  ready  to  begin  teaching  in 
Indianapolis  next  September.  I  guess  if  we  had 
found  a  million  dollars  in  her  grandpa's  box  it  would 
have  been  the  same.  When  you  talk  about  health, 
she  laughs;  I  guess  if  there's  a  healthy  woman  on 
earth  it's  that  girl.  She  says  she  doubled  all  her 
gymnasium  work  at  college  to  build  herself  up  ready 
for  business.  You  know  Dr.  Wandless's  daughter 
is  a  Wellesley  woman,  and  keeps  in  touch  with  the 
college.  She  wrote  home  that  Sylvia  had  'em  all  beat 
a  mile  down  there;  that  she  just  walked  through 
everything  and  would  be  chosen  for  the  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  —  is  that  right,  Daniel?  She  sort  o'  throws 
you  out  of  your  calculations,  that  girl  does.  I  'd 
counted  on  having  a  good  time  with  her  up  at  the 
lake,  and  now  it  looks  like  I  'd  have  to  stay  in  town 
all  summer  if  I  'm  going  to  see  anything  of  her." 

It  was  clear  enough  that  Mrs.  Owen  was  not 

(278) 


STOP,   LOOK,   LISTEN 

interesting  herself  in  Sylvia  merely  because  the  girl 
was  the  granddaughter  of  an  old  friend ;  she  admired 
Sylvia  on  her  own  account  and  was  at  no  pains  to 
disguise  the  fact.  The  Bassett  expectations  were, 
Dan  reflected,  scarcely  at  a  premium  to-day! 

Mr.  Akins  returned  the  papers  to  the  safety  box, 
and  when  Mrs.  Owen  and  Harwood  were  alone,  she 
closed  the  door  carefully. 

"  Now,  Daniel,"  she  began,  opening  her  hand- 
satchel,  "I  always  hold  that  this  is  a  funny  world, 
but  that  things  come  out  right  in  the  end.  They 
mostly  do;  but  sometimes  the  Devil  gets  into  things 
and  it  ain't  so  easy.  You  believe  in  the  Devil, 
Daniel?" 

"Well,  my  folks  are  Presbyterians,"  said  Dan. 
"My  own  religion  is  the  same  as  Ware's.  I'm  not 
sure  he  vouches  for  the  Devil." 

"It's  my  firm  conviction  that  there  is  one, 
Daniel,  —  a  red  one  with  a  forked  tail;  you  see  his 
works  scattered  around  too  often  to  doubt  it." 

Dan  nodded.  Mrs.  Owen  had  placed  carefully 
under  a  weight  a  paper  she  had  taken  from  her  re 
ticule. 

"  Daniel,"  —  she  looked  around  at  the  door  again, 
and  dropped  her  voice,  —  "I  believe  you're  a  good 
man,  and  a  clean  one.  And  Fitch  says  you're  a 
smart  young  man.  It's  as  much  because  you're  a 
good  man  as  because  you  've  got  brains  that  I  've 
called  on  you  to  attend  to  Sylvia's  business.  Now 
I  'm  going  to  tell  you  something  that  I  would  n't  tell 
anybody  else  on  earth;  it's  a  sacred  trust,  and  I 
want  you  to  feel  bound  by  a  more  solemn  oath  than 

(279) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  one  you  took  at  the  clerk's  office  not  to  steal 
Sylvia's  money." 

She  fixed  her  remarkably  penetrating  gaze  upon 
him  so  intently  that  he  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
"It's  something  somebody  who  appreciates  Sylvia, 
as  I  think  you  do,  ought  to  know  about  her.  Andrew 
Kelton  told  me  just  before  Sylvia  started  to  college. 
The  poor  man  had  been  carrying  it  alone  till  it  broke 
him  down;  he  had  never  told  another  soul.  I  reckon 
it  was  the  hardest  job  he  ever  did  to  tell  me;  and  I 
would  n't  be  telling  you  except  somebody  ought  to 
know  who 's  in  a  position  to  help  Sylvia  —  sort  o' 
look  out  for  her  and  protect  her.  I  believe"  —  and 
she  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  his  arm  lightly  — 
"I  believe  I  can  trust  you  to  do  that." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Owen." 

She  waited  until  he  had  answered  her,  and  even 
then  she  was  silent,  lost  in  thought. 

"Professor  Kelton  did  n't  know,  Daniel,"  she  be 
gan  gravely,  "who  Sylvia's  father  was."  She  minim 
ized  the  significance  of  this  by  continuing  rapidly. 
"  Andrew  had  quit  the  Navy  soon  after  the  war  and 
came  out  here  to  Madison  College  to  teach,  and 
his  wife  had  died  and  he  did  n't  know  what  to  do 
with  his  daughter.  Edna  Kelton  was  a  little  head 
strong,  I  reckon,  and  wanted  her  own  way.  She 
did  n't  like  living  in  a  country  college  town;  there 
was  n't  anything  here  to  interest  her.  I  won't  tell 
you  all  of  Andrew's  story,  but  it  boils  down  to  just 
this,  that  while  Edna  was  in  New  York  studying 
music  she  got  married  without  telling  where,  or  to 
whom.  Andrew  never  saw  her  till  she  was  dying  in 

(280) 


STOP,   LOOK,   LISTEN 

a  hospital  and  had  a  little  girl  with  her,  —  that's 
Sylvia.  Now,  whether  there  was  any  disgrace  about 
it  Andrew  did  n't  know;  and  we  owe  it  to  that  dead 
woman  and  to  Sylvia  to  believe  it  was  all  right. 
You  see  what  I  mean,  Daniel?  Now  that  brings  me 
down  to  what  I  want  you  to  know.  Somebody  has 
been  keeping  watch  of  Sylvia,  —  Andrew  told  me 
that." 

She  was  thinking  deeply  as  though  pondering 
just  how  much  more  it  was  necessary  to  tell  him,  and 
before  she  spoke  she  picked  up  the  folded  paper  and 
read  it  through  carefully.  "When  Andrew  got  this 
it  troubled  him  a  lot:  the  idea  that  somebody  had 
an  eye  on  the  girl,  and  took  enough  interest  in  her 
to  do  this,  made  him  uneasy.  Sylvia  never  knew 
anything  about  it,  of  course;  she  does  n't  know  any 
thing  about  anything,  and  she  won't  ever  need  to." 

"As  I  understand  you,  Mrs.  Owen,  you  want 
some  friend  of  hers  to  be  in  a  position  to  protect  her 
if  any  one  tries  to  harm  her;  you  want  to  shield 
her  from  any  evil  that  might  follow  her  from  her 
mother's  errors,  if  they  were  indeed  errors.  We  have 
no  right  to  assume  that  she  had  done  anything  to 
be  ashamed  of.  That's  the  only  just  position  for  us 
to  take  in  such  a  matter." 

"That's  right,  Daniel.  I  knew  you'd  see  it  that 
way.  It  looks  bad,  and  Andrew  knew  it  looked  bad ; 
but  at  my  age  I  ain't  thinking  evil  of  people  if  I 
can  help  it.  If  a  woman  goes  wrong,  she  pays  for  it 
—  keeps  on  paying  after  she's  paid  the  whole  mort 
gage.  That's  the  blackest  thing  in  the  world  — 
that  a  woman  never  shakes  a  debt  like  that  the 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

way  a  man  can.  You  foreclose  on  a  woman  and  take 
away  everything  she's  got;  put  her  clean  through 
bankruptcy,  and  the  balance  is  still  against  her; 
but  we  can't  make  over  society  and  laws  just  sitting 
here  talking  about  it.  I  reckon  Edna  Kelton  suffered 
enough.  But  we  don't  want  Sylvia  to  suffer.  She's 
entitled  to  a  happy  life,  and  we  don't  want  any 
shadows  hanging  over  her.  Now  that  her  grand 
pa's  gone  she  can't  go  behind  what  he  told  her,  — 
poor  man,  he  had  trouble  enough  answering  the 
questions  she  had  a  right  to  ask;  and  he  had  to  lie 
to  her  some." 

"Yes;  I  suppose  she  will  be  content  now;  she  will 
feel  that  what  he  did  n't  tell  her  she  will  never  know. 
She's  not  a  morbid  person,  and  won't  be  likely  to 
bother  about  it." 

"No;  I  ain't  afraid  of  her  brooding  on  what  she 
does  n't  know.  It 's  the  fear  it  may  fly  up  and  strike 
her  when  she  ain't  looking  that  worries  me,  and  it 
worried  the  Professor,  too.  That  was  why  he  told 
me.  I  guess  when  he  talked  to  me  that  time  he 
knew  his  heart  was  going  to  stop  suddenly  some 
day.  And  he'd  got  a  hint  that  somebody  was  inter 
ested  in  watching  Sylvia  —  sort  o*  keeping  track  of 
her.  And  there  was  conscience  in  it;  whoever  it 
is  or  was  had  n't  got  clean  away  from  what  he'd 
done.  Now  I  had  a  narrow  escape  from  letting 
Sylvia  see  this  letter.  It  was  stuck  away  in  a  tin 
box  in  Andrew's  bedroom,  along  with  his  commis 
sions  in  the  Navy.  I  was  poking  round  the  house, 
thinking  there  might  be  things  it  would  be  better 
not  to  show  Sylvia,  and  I  struck  this  box,  and  there 

(282) 


STOP,  LOOK,  LISTEN 

was  this  letter,  stuck  away  in  the  middle  of  the 
package.  I  gave  Sylvia  the  commissions,  but  she 
did  n't  see  this.  I  don't  want  to  burn  it  till  you've 
seen  it.  This  must  have  been  what  Andrew  spoke 
to  me  about  that  time;  it  was  hardly  before  that, 
and  it  might  have  been  later.  You  see  it  is  n't  dated. 
He  started  to  tear  it  up,  but  changed  his  mind,  so 
now  we've  got  to  pass  on  it." 

She  pushed  the  letter  across  the  table  to  Harwood, 
and  he  read  it  through  carefully.  He  turned  it  over 
after  the  first  reading,  and  the  word  "Declined," 
written  firmly  and  underscored,  held  him  long  — 
so  long  that  he  started  when  Mrs.  Owen  roused 
him  with  "Well,  Daniel?" 

He  knew  before  he  had  finished  reading  that  it 
was  he  who  had  borne  the  letter  to  the  cottage  in 
Buckeye  Lane,  unless  there  had  been  a  series  of  such 
communications,  which  was  unlikely  on  the  face 
of  it.  Mrs.  Owen  had  herself  offered  confirmation 
by  placing  the  delivery  of  the  dateless  letter  five 
years  earlier.  The  internal  evidence  in  the  phrases 
prescribing  the  manner  in  which  the  verbal  reply 
was  to  be  sent,  and  the  indorsement  on  the  back  of 
the  sheet,  were  additional  corroboration.  It  was  al 
most  unimaginable  that  the  letter  should  have  come 
again  to  his  hand.  He  realized  the  importance  and 
significance  of  the  sheet  of  paper  with  the  swiftness 
of  a  lightning  flash;  but  beyond  the  intelligence  con 
veyed  by  the  letter  itself  there  was  still  the  darkness 
to  grope  in.  His  wits  had  never  worked  so  rapidly 
in  his  life;  he  felt  his  heart  beating  uncomfortably; 
the  perspiration  broke  out  upon  his  forehead,  and 

(283) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

he  drew  out  his  handkerchief  and  mopped  his 
face. 

11  It's  certainly  very  curious,  very  curious  indeed," 
he  said  with  all  the  calmness  he  could  muster.  "  But 
it  does  n't  tell  us  much." 

"It  was  n't  intended  to  tell  anything,"  said  Mrs. 
Owen.  "Whoever  wrote  that  letter,  as  I  told  you, 
was  troubled  about  Sylvia.  I  reckon  it  was  a  man; 
and  I  guess  it's  fair  to  assume  that  he  felt  under 
obligations,  but  had  n't  the  nerve  to  face  'em  as 
obligations.  Is  that  the  way  it  strikes  you?" 

"That  seems  clear  enough,"  he  replied  lamely. 

He  made  a  pretense  of  rereading  the  letter,  but 
only  detached  phrases  penetrated  to  his  conscious 
ness.  His  imagination  was  in  rebellion  against  the 
curbing  to  which  he  strove  to  subject  it.  When  he 
had  borne  his  answer  back  to  Fitch's  office  and 
been  discharged  with  the  generous  payment  of  one 
hundred  dollars  for  his  services  as  messenger,  just 
what  had  been  the  further  history  of  the  transac 
tion?  He  had  so  far  controlled  his  agitation  that  he 
was  able  to  continue  discussing  the  letter  formally 
with  the  kind  old  woman  who  had  placed  the  clue  in 
his  hands.  He  was  little  experienced  in  the  difficult 
art  of  conversing  with  half  a  mind,  and  a  direct 
question  from  Mrs.  Owen  roused  him  to  the  neces 
sity  of  heeding  what  she  was  saying.  He  had  re 
solved,  however,  that  he  would  not  tell  her  of  his 
own  connection  with  the  message  that  lay  on  the 
table  before  them.  He  needed  time  in  which  to  con 
sider;  he  must  not  add  a  pebble's  weight  to  an 
avalanche  that  might  go  crashing  down  upon  the 

(284) 


WHOEVER  WROTE  THAT  LETTER  WAS  TROUBLED  ABOUT  SYLVIA 


STOP,  LOOK,  LISTEN 

innocent.  His  training  had  made  him  wary  of  cir 
cumstantial  evidence;  after  all  it  was  possible  that 
this  was  not  the  letter  he  had  carried  to  Professor 
Kelton.  It  would  be  very  like  Mrs.  Owen,  if  she 
saw  that  anything  could  be  gained  by  such  a  course, 
to  go  direct  to  Fitch  and  demand  to  know  the 
source  of  the  offer  that  had  passed  through  his 
hands  so  mysteriously;  but  Fitch  had  not  known  the 
contents  of  the  letter,  or  he  had  said  as  much  to 
Harwood.  There  was  also  the  consideration,  and 
not  the  lightest,  that  Dan  was  bound  in  honor  to 
maintain  the  secrecy  Fitch  had  imposed  upon  him. 
The  lawyer  had  confided  the  errand  to  him  in  the 
belief  that  he  would  accept  the  mission  in  the  spirit 
in  which  it  was  entrusted  to  him,  and  his  part  in 
the  transaction  was  a  matter  between  himself  and 
Fitch  and  did  not  concern  Mrs.  Owen  in  any  way 
whatever.  No  possible  benefit  could  accrue  to  Sylvia 
from  a  disclosure  of  his  suspicion  that  he  had  borne 
the  letter  to  her  grandfather.  Mrs.  Owen  had 
given  him  the  letter  that  he  might  be  in  a  position 
to  protect  Sylvia,  and  there  was  nothing  incom 
patible  between  this  confidence  and  his  duty  to 
Fitch,  who  continued  to  be  a  kind  and  helpful  friend. 
He  dreaded  the  outcome  of  an  interview  between 
this  shrewd,  penetrating,  and  indomitable  woman 
and  the  lawyer.  The  letter,  cold  and  colorless  in  what 
it  failed  to  say,  and  torn  half  across  to  mark  the  in 
decision  of  the  old  professor,  had  in  it  a  great  power 
for  mischief. 

While  Harwood 's  mind  was  busy  with  these  re 
flections  he  had  been  acquiescing  in  various  specu- 

(285) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

lations  in  which  Mrs.  Owen  had  been  indulging, 
without  really  being  conscious  of  their  import. 

"  I  don't  know  that  any  good  can  come  of  keeping 
the  letter,  Daniel.  I  reckon  we  might  as  wrell  tear 
it  up.  You  and  I  know  what  it  is,  and  I  've  been 
studying  it  for  a  couple  of  days  without  seeing  where 
any  good  can  come  of  holding  it.  You  might  burn 
it  in  the  grate  there  and  we'll  both  know  it's  out 
of  the  way.  I  guess  that  person  feels  that  he  done  his 
whole  duty  in  making  the  offer  and  he  won't  be 
likely  to  bother  any  more.  That  conscience  was  a 
long  time  getting  waked  up,  and  having  done  that 
much  it  probably  went  to  sleep  again.  There's 
nothing  sleeps  as  sound  as  a  conscience,  I  reckon, 
and  I  should  n't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  mine  took  a  nap 
occasionally.  Better  burn  that  little  document, 
Daniel,  and  we'll  be  rid  of  it  and  try  to  forget  it." 

"No;  I  don't  believe  I'd  do  that,"  he  said  slowly. 
"It  might  be  better  to  hold  on  to  it,  at  least  until 
the  estate  is  closed  up.  You  can't  tell  what's  behind 
it."  And  then,  groping  for  a  plausible  reason,  he 
added:  "The  author  of  the  letter  may  be  in  a  posi 
tion  to  annoy  Sylvia  by  filing  a  claim  against  the 
Professor's  estate,  or  something  of  that  kind.  It's 
better  not  to  destroy  the  only  thing  we  have  that 
might  help  if  that  should  occur.  I  believe  it's  best 
to  hold  on  to  it  till  the  estate's  settled." 

This  was  pretty  lame,  as  he  realized,  but  his  cau 
tion  pleased  her,  and  she  acquiesced.  She  was  anxious 
to  leave  no  ground  for  anyone  to  rob  Sylvia  of  her 
money,  and  if  there  was  any  remote  possibility  that 
the  letter  might  add  to  the  girl's  security  she  was 

(286) 


STOP,  LOOK,  LISTEN 

willing  that  it  should  be  retained.  She  sent  Dan  out 
into  the  bank  for  an  envelope,  and  when  it  was 
brought,  sealed  up  the  letter  and  addressed  it  to 
Dan  in  her  own  hand  and  marked  it  private. 

"You  take  good  care  of  that,  Daniel,  and  when 
you  get  the  estate  closed  up  you  burn  it." 

"Yes,  it  can  do  no  harm  to  hold  it  a  little  while," 
he  said  with  affected  lightness. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   STROLL  ACROSS  THE   CAMPUS 

DAN  joined  Mrs.  Owen  and  Sylvia  at  the  cot 
tage  later.    He  was  to  see  them  off  in  the 
morning;  and  he  exerted  himself  to  make 
Sylvia's  last  evening  in  Buckeye  Lane  as  happy  as 
possible.  The  cottage  was  to  be  left  in  the  care  of  the 
old  servant  until  it  could  be  disposed  of;  Mary  her 
self  was  to  be  provided  for  in  some  way  —  Sylvia 
and  Mrs.  Owen  had  decided  that  this  was  only  fair 
and  right. 

After  tea  Mrs.  Owen  said  she  had  letters  to  write 
and  carried  her  portfolio  to  the  library  for  the  pur 
pose.  Dan  and  Sylvia  being  thus  left  to  themselves, 
he  proposed  a  stroll  across  the  campus. 

"There's  something  about  a  campus,"  he  said, 
as  they  started  out;  —  "there's  a  likeness  in  all  of 
them,  or  maybe  it's  sentiment  that  binds  them  to 
gether.  Wellesley  speaks  to  Yale,  and  the  language 
of  both  is  understood  by  Madison.  Ah  —  there's 
the  proof  of  it  now!" 

Integer  vitae,  scelerisque  purus! 

A  dozen  students  lounging  on  the  steps  of  the  li 
brary  had  begun  to  sing  the  Latin  words  to  a  familiar 
air.  Dan  followed  in  his  deep  bass  to  the  end. 

"The  words  are  the  words  of  Horace,  but  the  tune 

(288) 


A  STROLL  ACROSS  THE  CAMPUS 

is  the  tune  of  Eli  with  thanks  to  Dr.  Fleming,"  he 
remarked.  "It's  that  sort  of  thing  that  makes  col 
lege  worth  while.  I  '11  wager  those  are  seniors,  who 
already  feel  a  little  heartache  because  their  college 
years  are  so  nearly  over.  I  'm  getting  to  be  an  old 
grad  myself,  but  those  songs  still  give  me  a  twinge." 

"I  understand  that,"  said  Sylvia.  'Til  soon  be 
saying  good-bye  to  girls  I  may  never  see  again,  or 
when  I  meet  them  at  a  reunion  in  five  or  ten  years, 
they'll  be  different.  College  is  only  the  beginning, 
after  all." 

"  It's  only  the  beginning,  but  for  some  fellows  it's 
the  end,  too.  It  scares  me  to  see  how  many  of  my 
classmates  are  already  caught  in  the  undertow.  I 
wonder  sometimes  whether  I  'm  not  going  under 
myself." 

Sylvia  turned  toward  him. 

"I  rather  imagine  that  you're  a  strong  swimmer. 
It  would  surprise  me  if  you  did  n't  do  something 
pretty  big.  Mrs.  Owen  thinks  you  will;  she's  not 
a  person  for  any  one  to  disappoint." 

"Oh,  she  has  a  way  of  thinking  in  large  totals  of 
people  she  likes,  and  she  does  like  me,  most  unac 
countably." 

"She  has  real  illusions  about  me"  laughed  Sylvia. 
"She  has  an  idea  that  colleges  do  things  by  magic; 
and  I  'm  afraid  she  will  find  out  that  the  wand 
did  n't  touch  me." 

"You  didn't  need  the  wand's  magic,"  he  an 
swered,  "for  you  are  a  woman  of  genius." 

"Which  sounds  well,  Mr.  Harwood;  no  one  ever 
used  such  words  to  me  before!  I've  learned  one 

(289) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

thing,  though :  that  patience  and  work  will  make  up 
for  a  good  many  lacks.  There  are  some  things  I  'm 
going  to  try  to  do." 

They  loitered  in  the  quiet  paths  of  the  campus. 
" Bright  College  Years"  followed  them  from  the 
singers  at  the  library.  If  there's  any  sentiment  in 
man  or  woman  the  airs  of  a  spring  night  in  our  mid- 
western  country  will  call  it  out.  The  planets  shone 
benignantly  through  the  leaves  of  maple  and  elm; 
and  the  young  grass  was  irregular,  untouched  as 
yet  by  the  mower  —  as  we  like  it  best  who  love  our 
Madison!  A  week-old  moon  hung  in  the  sky  — 
ample  light  for  the  first  hay-ride  of  the  season  that 
is  moving  toward  Water  Babble  to  the  strains  of 
guitar  and  banjo  and  boy  and  girl  voices.  It's  un 
accountable  that  there  should  be  so  much  music 
in  a  sophomore  —  or  maybe  that's  a  fraternity 
affair  —  Sigma  Chi  or  Delta  Tau  or  Deke.  Or 
mayhap  those  lads  wear  a  "Fiji"  pin  on  their  waist 
coats;  I  seem  to  recall  spring  hay-rides  as  an  ex 
pression  of  "Fiji"  spirit  in  my  own  days  at  Madi 
son,  when  I  myself  was  that  particular  blithe  Hellen 
ist  with  the  guitar,  and  scornful  of  all  Barbarians! 

Sylvia  was  a  woman  now.  ^ons  stretched  be 
tween  to-night  and  that  afternoon  when  she  had 
opened  the  door  for  Harwood  in  Buckeye  Lane. 
His  chivalry  had  been  deeply  touched  by  Mrs. 
Owen's  disclosure  at  the  bank,  and  subsequent  re 
flection  had  not  lightened  the  burden  of  her  con 
fidence.  Such  obscurities  as  existed  in  the  first  para 
graph  of  the  first  page  of  Sylvia's  life's  record  were 
dark  enough  in  any  circumstances,  but  the  darkness 

(290) 


A  STROLL  ACROSS  THE  CAMPUS 

was  intensified  by  her  singular  isolation.  The  com 
mission  he  had  accepted  in  her  behalf  from  Mrs. 
Owen  carried  a  serious  responsibility.  These  things 
he  pondered  as  they  walked  together.  He  felt  the 
pathos  of  her  black  gown;  but  she  had  rallied  from 
the  first  shock  of  her  sorrow,  and  met  him  in  his 
key  of  badinage.  She  was  tall  —  almost  as  tall  as 
he;  and  in  the  combined  moon-  and  star-light  of  the 
open  spaces  their  eyes  met  easily. 

He  was  conscious  to-night  of  the  charm  in  Sylvia 
that  he  had  felt  first  on  the  train  that  day  they  had 
sped  through  the  Berkshires  together.  No  other 
girl  had  ever  appealed  to  him  so  strongly.  It  was  not 
the  charm  of  cleverness,  for  she  was  not  clever  in 
the  usual  sense;  she  said  few  bright,  quotable  things, 
though  her  humor  was  keen.  She  had  carried  into 
womanhood  the  good  looks  of  her  girlhood,  and  she 
was  a  person  one  looked  at  twice.  Her  eyes  were 
fine  and  expressive,  and  they  faced  the  world  with 
an  engaging  candor.  They  had  learned  to  laugh 
since  we  saw  her  first  —  college  and  contact  with 
the  world  had  done  that  for  her.  Her  face  was 
long,  her  nose  a  compromise  of  good  models,  her 
mouth  a  little  large,  but  offering  compensations 
when  she  smiled  in  her  quick,  responsive  fashion. 
One  must  go  deeper,  Harwood  reflected,  for  Sylvia's 
charm;  and  it  dawned  upon  him  that  it  was  in  the 
girl's  self,  born  of  an  alert,  clear-thinking  mind  and 
a  kind  and  generous  heart.  Individuality,  person 
ality,  were  words  with  which  he  sought  to  character 
ize  her;  and  as  he  struggled  with  terms,  he  found 
that  she  was  carrying  the  burden  of  the  talk. 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"I  suppose,"  she  was  saying,  in  her  voice  thai 
was  deeper  than  most  women's  voices,  and  musica 
and  agreeable  to  hear, —  "I  suppose  that  college 
is  designed  to  save  us  all  a  lot  of  hard  knocks;  ] 
wonder  if  it  does?" 

"If  you're  asking  me  personally,  I'll  say  tha 
there  are  lumps  on  my  brow  where  I  have  bumpec 
hard,  in  spite  of  my  A.B.  degree.  I'm  disposed  t( 
think  that  college  only  postpones  the  day  of  oui 
awakening;  we've  got  to  shoot  the  chutes  anyhow 
It  is  so  written." 

She  laughed  at  his  way  of  putting  it. 

"Oh,  you're  not  so  much  older  that  you  car 
frighten  me.  People  on  the  toboggan  always  seen 
to  be  having  a  good  time;  the  percentage  of  those 
whose  car  jumps  the  track  is  n't  formidable." 

"Just  enough  fatalities  to  flavor  the  statistics 
The  seniors  over  there  have  stopped  singing;  I  dan 
say  they  're  talking  about  life  in  large  capital  letters.' 

"Well,  there  are  plenty  of  chances.  I'm  rathe; 
of  the  opinion  that  we're  all  here  to  do  something  foi 
somebody.  Nobody's  life  is  just  his  own.  Whethei 
we  want  it  that  way  or  not,  we  are  all  links  in  the 
chain,  and  it's  our  business  not  to  be  the  weakest.' 

"I'm  an  individualist,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  ven 
largely  concerned  in  seeing  what  Daniel  Harwood 
a  poor  young  lawyer  of  mediocre  abilities,  can  d( 
with  this  thing  we  hear  mentioned  as  life." 

"Oh,  but  there's  no  such  thing  as  an  individualist 
the  idea  is  purely  academic!"  and  she  laughed  again 
but  less  lightly.  "We  're  all  debtors  to  somebody  o: 
something —  to  the  world  itself,  for  example." 

(292) 


A  STROLL  ACROSS  THE  CAMPUS 

"For  the  stars  up  there,  for  grass  and  trees,  for 
the  moon  by  night  and  the  sun  by  day  —  for  the 
gracious  gift  of  friends?" 

' '  A  little,  yes ;  but  they  don't  count  so  much.  I  owe 
my  debt  to  people  —  real  human  beings,  who  may 
not  be  as  lucky  as  I.  For  a  good  many  thousand 
years  people  have  been  at  work  trying  to  cheer  up 
the  world  —  brighten  it  and  make  it  a  better  place 
to  live  in.  I  owe  all  those  people  something;  it's  not 
merely  a  little  something;  it's  a  tremendous  lot,  and 
I  must  pay  these  other  human  beings  who  don't 
know  what  they're  entitled  to.  You  have  felt  that; 
you  have  felt  it  just  as  I  have,  I  'm  sure." 

"  You  are  still  in  college,  and  that  is  what  under 
graduates  are  taught  to  call  ideals,  Miss  Garrison. 
I  hope  you  will  hold  on  to  them:  I  had  mine, 
but  I  'm  conscious  of  late  that  I  'm  losing  my  grip 
on  them.  It's  inevitable,  in  a  man's  life.  It's  a 
good  thing  that  women  hold  on  to  them  longer; 
without  woman's  faith  in  such  things  the  world 
would  be  a  sad  old  cinder,  tumbling  aimlessly  around 
in  the  void." 

She  stopped  abruptly  in  the  path,  very  tall  and 
slim  in  the  dusk  of  starlight  and  moonlight.  He 
had  been  carrying  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  he  leaned 
on  his  stick  wondering  whether  she  were  really  in 
earnest,  whether  he  had  displeased  her  by  the  half- 
mocking  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken. 

11  Please  don't  talk  this  old,  romantic,  mediaeval 
nonsense  about  women !  This  is  the  twentieth  cen 
tury,  and  I  don't  believe  for  a  minute  that  a  woman, 
just  by  being  a  woman,  can  keep  the  world  sweet 

(293) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  beautiful.  Once,  maybe;  but  not  any  more! 
A  woman's  ideals  are  n't  a  bit  better  than  a  man's 
unless  she  stands  up  for  them  and  works  for  them. 
You  don't  have  to  take  that  from  a  college  senior; 
you  can  ask  dear  Mrs.  Owen.  I  suppose  she  knows 
life  from  experience  if  any  woman  ever  did,  and  she 
has  held  to  her  ideals  and  kept  working  away  at 
them.  But  just  being  a  woman,  and  being  good,  and 
nice,  and  going  to  church,  and  belonging  to  a  mis 
sionary  society  —  well,  Mr.  Harwood?" 

She  had  changed  from  earnestness  to  a  note  of 
raillery. 

"Yes,  Miss  Garrison,"  he  replied  in  her  own  key; 
"if  you  expect  me  to  take  issue  with  you  or  Mrs. 
Owen  on  any  point,  you're  much  mistaken.  You 
and  she  are  rather  fortunate  over  many  of  the  rest 
of  us  in  having  both  brains  and  gentle  hearts  —  the 
combination  is  irresistible!  When  you  come  home 
to  throw  in  your  lot  with  that  of  about  a  quarter  of 
a  million  of  us  in  our  Hoosier  capital,  I'll  put  my 
self  at  your  disposal.  I  've  been  trying  to  figure  some 
way  of  saving  the  American  Republic  for  the  plain 
people,  and  I  expect  to  go  out  in  the  campaign  this 
fall  and  make  some  speeches  warning  all  good  citi 
zens  to  be  on  guard  against  corporate  greed,  inva 
sions  of  sacred  rights,  and  so  on.  My  way  is  plain, 
the  duty  clear,"  he  concluded,  with  a  wave  of  his 
stick. 

"Well,"  said  Sylvia,  "if  you  care  enough  about 
it  to  do  that  you  must  still  have  a  few  ideals  lying 
around  somewhere." 

"I  don't  know,  to  be  honest  about  it,  that  it's  so 

(294) 


A  STROLL  ACROSS  THE  CAMPUS 

much  my  ideals  as  a  wish  to  help  my  friend  Mr.  Bas- 
sett  win  a  fight." 

"  I  did  n't  know  that  he  ever  needed  help  in  win 
ning  what  he  really  wanted  to  win.  I  have  heard 
of  him  only  as  the  indomitable  leader  who  wins 
whenever  it's  worth  while." 

"Well,"  Dan  answered,  "he's  got  a  fight  on  hand 
that  he  can't  afford  to  lose  if  he  means  to  stay  in 
politics." 

"I  must  learn  all  about  that  when  I  come  home. 
I  never  saw  Mr.  Bassett  but  once;  that  was  at  Wau- 
pegan  when  I  was  up  there  with  Mrs.  Owen  nearly 
five  years  ago.  He  had  just  come  back  from  the 
West  and  spent  only  a  day  at  the  lake." 

"Then  you  don't  really  know  him?" 

"No;  they  had  counted  on  having  him  there  for 
the  rest  of  the  summer,  but  he  came  one  day  and 
left  the  next.  He  did  n't  even  see  Mrs.  Owen;  I  re 
member  that  she  expressed  surprise  that  he  had 
come  to  the  lake  and  gone  without  seeing  her." 

"He's  a  busy  man  and  works  hard.  You  were 
getting  acquainted  with  Marian  about  that  time?" 

"Yes;  she  was  awfully  good  to  me  that  summer. 
I  liked  Mr.  Bassett,  the  glimpse  I  had  of  him;  he 
seemed  very  interesting  —  a  solid  American  charac 
ter,  quiet  and  forceful." 

"Yes,  he  is  that;  he's  a  strong  character.  He's 
shown  me  every  kindness  —  given  me  my  chance .  I 
should  be  ashamed  of  myself  if  I  did  n't  feel  grate 
ful  to  him." 

They  had  made  the  complete  circuit  of  the  campus 
several  times  and  Sylvia  said  it  was  time  to  go  back. 

(295) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

The  remembrance  of  Bassetthad  turned  her  thoughts 
to  Marian,  and  they  were  still  talking  of  her  when 
Mrs.  Owen  greeted  them  cheerily  from  the  little 
veranda.  They  were  to  start  for  Boston  in  the 
morning,  and  Harwood  was  to  stay  in  Montgomery 
a  day  or  two  longer  on  business  connected  with  the 
estate.  "  Don't  let  my  sad  philosophy  keep  you 
awake,  Mr.  Harwood !  —  I  've  given  him  all  my  life 
programme,  Mrs.  Owen.  I  think  it  has  had  a  de 
pressing  influence  on  him." 

"It's  merely  that  you  have  roused  me  to  a  sense 
of  my  own  general  worldliness  and  worthlessness," 
he  replied,  laughing  as  they  shook  hands. 

"  I  guess  Sylvia  can  tell  you  a  good  many  things, 
Daniel,"  said  Mrs.  Owen.  "  I  wish  you'd  call  Myers 
—  he's  my  Seymour  farmer  —  on  the  long  dis 
tance  in  the  morning,  and  tell  him  not  to  think  I 
won't  be  down  to  look  at  his  corn  when  I  get  back. 
Tell  him  I  've  gone  to  college,  but  I  '11  be  right  down 
there  when  I  get  home." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   KINGDOMS   OF   THE   WORLD 

HARWOOD  reached  the  capital  on  the  after 
noon  of  the  second  day  after  Mrs.  Owen  and 
Sylvia  had  gone  East,  and  went  at  once  to 
the  Boordman  Building.    Miss  Farrell  was  folding 
and  sealing  letters  bearing  Bassett's  signature. 

"Hello,  little  stranger;  I  'd  begun  to  think  you  had 
met  with  foul  play,  as  the  hero  says  in  scene  two,  act 
three,  of  'The  Dark  Switch-Lantern'  —  all  week  at 
the  Park  Theatre  at  prices  within  the  reach  of  all. 
Business  has  been  good,  if  you  press  me  for  news,  but 
that  paper-mill  has  n't  had  much  attention  since 
you  departed  this  life.  Everybody's  saying  'Stop, 
Look,  Listen ! '  When  in  doubt  you  say  that,  —  the 
white  aprons  in  the  one-arm  lunch  rooms  say  it  now 
when  you  kick  on  the  size  of  the  buns.  You  will  find 
your  letters  in  the  left-hand  drawer.  I  told  that 
collector  from  the  necktie  foundry  that  he  need  n't 
wear  himself  to  a  shadow  carrying  bills  up  here ;  that 
you  paid  all  your  bills  by  check  on  the  tenth  of  the 
month.  As  that  was  the  twenty-ninth,  you'd  better 
frame  some  new  by-laws  to  avoid  other  breaks  like 
that.  I  can't  do  much  lying  at  my  present  salary." 
She  stood  with  her  hands  clasping  her  belt,  and 
continued  to  enlighten  him  on  current  history  as  he 
looked  over  his  letters. 

(297) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"That  young  Allen  Thatcher  has  been  making 
life  a  burden  to  me  in  your  lamented  absence. 
Wanted  to  know  every  few  hours  if  you  had  come 
back,  and  threatened  to  call  you  up  on  the  long 
distance  at  Montgomery,  but  I  told  him  you  were 
trying  a  murder  case  over  there,  and  that  if  he 
did  n't  want  to  get  nailed  for  contempt  of  court  he  'd 
better  not  interrupt  the  proceedings." 

"You're  speaking  of  Mr.  Allen  Thatcher,  are 
you,  Miss  Farrell?"  asked  Harwood,  in  the  tone  to 
which  the  girl  frequently  drove  him. 

"The  same,  like  the  mind  reader  you  are!  Say, 
that  boy  is  n't  stuck  on  you  or  anything.  He  came 
up  here  yesterday  afternoon  when  the  boss  was  out 
and  wanted  to  talk  things  over.  He  seemed  to  think 
I  had  n't  anything  to  do  but  be  a  sister  to  him  and 
hear  his  troubles.  Well,  I  've  got  embarrassments  of 
my  own,  with  that  true  sport  his  papa  sending  me  an 
offer  of  a  hundred  per  month  to  work  for  him.  One 
hundred  dollars  a  month  in  advance!  This,  Mr.  Har 
wood,  is  private  and  confidential.  I  guess  I  have  n't 
worked  at  the  State  House  without  learning  a  few 
tricks  in  this  mortal  vale  of  politics." 

She  had  calculated  nicely  the  effect  of  this  shot. 
Harwood  might  treat  her,  as  she  said,  like  a  step 
child  with  a  harelip,  but  occasionally  she  made  him 
sit  up.  He  sat  up  now.  He  remarked  with  the  diplo 
matic  unconcern  that  it  was  best  to  employ  with 
her:  — 

''Refused  the  offer,  did  you,  Miss  Farrell?" 

"I  certainly  did.  As  between  a  fat  old  sport  like 
Ed  Thatcher  and  a  gentleman  like  Mr.  Bassett, 

(298) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

money  does  n't  count  —  not  even  with  a  p.  w.  g.,  or 
poor  working  girl,  like  me.  Hush!  —  are  we  quite 
alone?"  She  bent  toward  the  door  dramatically. 
"What  he  was  playing  for,  as  neat  as  a  hatpin  in 
your  loved  one's  eye,  was  some  facts  about  the  boss's 
committee  work  in  that  last  session  I  worked  at  the 
State  House.  Cute  of  Thatcher?  Well,  not  so  awful 
bright!  He  does  n't  know  what  he's  up  against  if  he 
thinks  Mort  Bassett  can  be  caught  on  flypaper,  and 
you  can  be  dead  sure  I  'm  not  going  to  sprinkle  the 
sugar  to  catch  our  boss  with.  All  that  Transporta 
tion  Committee  business  was  just  as  straight  as  the 
way  home;  but "  —  Miss  Farrell  tapped  her  mouth 
daintily  with  her  fingers  to  stifle  an  imaginary  yawn 
— "but  little  Rose  brought  down  her  shorthand 
notebooks  marked  'M.  B.  personal/  and  the  boss 
and  I  burned  them  yesterday  morning  early,  right 
there  in  that  grate  in  his  room.  That's  what  I  think 
of  Mr.  Ed  Thatcher.  A  pearl  necklace  for  my  birth 
day  ought  to  be  about  right  for  that." 

Harwood  had  been  drinking  this  in  as  he  opened 
and  sorted  his  letters.  He  paused  and  stared  at  her 
absently. 

"You  referred  to  a  caller  a  moment  ago  —  the 
gentleman  who  annoyed  you  so  much  on  the  tele 
phone.  Was  I  to  call  him  or  anything  like  that?" 

"  He  left  a  good  many  orders,  but  I  think  you  were 
to  eat  food  with  him  in  the  frosty  halls  of  the  Uni 
versity  Club  almost  at  once.  He 's  in  a  state  of  mind. 
In  love  with  the  daughter  of  his  father's  enemy  — 
just  like  a  Park  Theatre  thriller.  Wants  you  to  tell 
him  what  to  do ;  and  you  will  pardon  me  for  suggest- 

(299) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ing  that  if  there's  to  be  an  elopement  you  write  it  up 
yourself  for  the  'Courier.'  I  was  talking  to  a  friend 
of  mine  who's  on  the  ding-ding  desk  at  the  Whit- 
comb  and  she  says  the  long-distance  business  in  that 
tavern  is  painful  to  handle  —  hot  words  flying  over 
the  state  about  this  Thatcher-Bassett  rumpus. 
You  may  take  it  from  me  that  the  fight  is  warm,  and 
I  guess  somebody  will  know  more  after  the  conven 
tion.  But  say— !" 

"Um,"  said  Harwood,  whose  gaze  was  upon  the 
frame  of  a  new  building  that  was  rising  across  the 
street.  He  was  thinking  of  Allen.  If  Marian  and 
Allen  were  subjects  of  gossip  in  connection  with  the 
break  between  their  fathers  he  foresaw  trouble;  and 
he  was  sorry,  for  he  was  sincerely  devoted  to  the 
boy;  and  Marian  he  liked  also,  in  spite  of  her  va 
garies.  A  great  many  people  were  likely  to  be 
affected  by  the  personal  difficulties  of  Thatcher  and 
Bassett.  Even  quiet  Montgomery  was  teeming,  and 
on  the  way  from  the  station  he  had  met  half  a  dozen 
acquaintances  who  had  paused  to  shake  hands  and 
say  something  about  the  political  situation.  His 
ignorance  of  Bassett's  real  intentions,  which  pre 
sumably  the  defiance  of  the  " Courier"  merely 
cloaked,  was  not  without  its  embarrassment.  He 
had  been  known  as  a  Bassett  man;  he  had  received 
and  talked  to  innumerable  politicians  of  Bassett's 
party  in  the  Boordman  Building;  and  during  the  four 
years  of  his  identification  with  Bassett  he  had  visited 
most  of  the  county  seats  on  political  and  business 
errands.  The  closeness  of  their  association  made  all 
the  more  surprising  this  sudden  exclusion. 

(300) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

"I  said  'say,'"  repeated  Miss  Farrell,  lightly 
touching  the  smooth  cliff  of  yellow  hair  above  her 
brow  with  the  back  of  her  hand.  "I  was  about  to 
give  you  a  message  from  his  majesty  our  king,  but 
if  you're  on  a  pipe  dream  don't  let  me  call  you 
home." 

"Oh,  yes;  pardon  me.  What  were  you  about  to 
say?" 

"Mr.  Bassett  said  that  if  you  came  in  before  I 
quit  to  ask  you  to  come  over  to  the  Whitcomb.  Mrs. 
Bassett  blew  in  to-day  from  that  sanatorium  in 
Connecticut  where  they've  been  working  on  her 
nerves.  Miss  Marian  brought  her  back,  and  they've 
stopped  in  town  to  rest.  And  say,"  —  here  Miss 
Farrell  lowered  her  voice,  —  "the  Missis  must  try 
his  soul  a  good  deal!  I  wonder  how  he  ever  picked 
her  out  of  the  bunch?" 

"That  will  do!"  said  Harwood  sharply.  "  I  '11  find 
Mr.  Bassett  at  the  Whitcomb  and  I  shan't  have  any 
thing  for  you  to-day." 

There  had  been  a  meeting  of  the  central  committee 
preliminary  to  the  approaching  state  convention.  A 
number  of  candidates  had  already  opened  head 
quarters  at  the  Whitcomb;  members  of  Congress, 
aspirants  for  the  governor's  seat,  to  be  filled  two 
years  hence,  and  petty  satraps  from  far  and  near 
were  visible  at  the  hotel.  If  Bassett's  star  was  declin 
ing  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  it  in  the  conduct 
of  the  advance  guard.  If  any  change  was  appa 
rent  it  pointed  to  an  increase  of  personal  popularity. 
Bassett  was  not  greatly  given  to  loafing  in  public 
places;  he  usually  received  visitors  at  such  times 

(301) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

in  an  upper  room  of  the  hotel;  but  Harwood  found 
him  established  on  a  settee  in  the  lobby  in  plain  view 
of  all  seekers,  and  from  the  fixed  appearance  of  the 
men  clustered  about  him  he  had  held  this  position 
for  some  time.  Harwood  drew  into  the  outer  edge 
of  the  crowd  unnoticed  for  a  moment.  Bassett  was 
at  his  usual  ease;  a  little  cheerfuler  of  countenance 
than  was  his  wont,  and  yet  not  unduly  anxious  to 
appear  tranquil.  He  had  precipitated  one  of  the 
most  interesting  political  struggles  the  state  had 
ever  witnessed,  but  his  air  of  unconcern  before  this 
mixed  company  of  his  fellow  partisans,  among 
whom  there  were  friends  and  foes,  was  well  calcu 
lated  to  inspire  faith  in  his  leadership.  Some  one 
was  telling  a  story,  and  at  its  conclusion  Bassett 
caught  Harwood's  eye  and  called  to  him  in  a  manner 
that  at  once  drew  attention  to  the  young  man. 

"Hello,  Dan!  You're  back  from  the  country  all 
right,  I  see!  I  guess  you  boys  all  know  Harwood. 
You've  seen  his  name  in  the  newspapers!" 

Several  of  the  loungers  shook  hands  with  Har 
wood,  who  had  cultivated  the  handshaking  habit, 
and  he  made  a  point  of  addressing  to  each  one  some 
personal  remark.  Thus  the  gentleman  from  Tippe- 
canoe,  who  had  met  Dan  at  the  congressional  con 
vention  in  Lafayette  two  years  earlier,  felt  that  he 
must  have  favorably  impressed  Bassett's  agent  on  that 
occasion ;  else  how  had  Harwood  asked  at  once,  with 
the  most  shameless  flattery,  whether  they  still  had 
the  same  brand  of  fried  chicken  at  his  house!  And 
the  gentleman  from  the  remote  shores  of  the  Lake, 
a  rare  visitor  in  town,  had  every  right  to  believe, 

(302) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

from  Dan's  reference  to  the  loss  by  fire  of  the  gentle 
man's  house  a  year  earlier,  that  that  calamity  had 
aroused  in  Dan  the  deepest  sympathy.  Dan  had 
mastered  these  tricks;  it  rather  tickled  his  sense  of 
humor  to  practice  them ;  but  it  must  be  said  for  him 
that  he  was  sincerely  interested  in  people,  particu 
larly  in  these  men  who  played  the  great  game.  If  he 
ever  achieved  anything  in  politics  it  must  be  through 
just  such  material  as  offered  itself  on  such  occasions 
as  this  in  the  halls  of  the  Whitcomb.  These  men 
might  be  tearing  the  leader  to  pieces  to-morrow,  or 
the  day  after;  but  he  was  still  in  the  saddle,  and  not 
knowing  but  that  young  Harwood  might  be  of  use  to 
them  some  day,  they  greeted  him  as  one  of  the  inner 
circle. 

Most  of  these  men  sincerely  liked  and  admired 
Bassett;  and  many  of  them  accepted  the  prevail 
ing  superstition  as  to  his  omniscience  and  invul 
nerability;  even  in  the  Republican  camp  many 
shared  the  belief  that  the  spears  of  the  righteous 
were  of  no  avail  against  him.  Dan's  loyalty  to 
Bassett  had  never  been  more  firmly  planted.  Bassett 
had  always  preserved  a  certain  formality  in  his  rela 
tions  with  him;  to-night  he  was  calling  him  Dan, 
naturally  and  as  though  unconscious  of  the  transi 
tion.  This  was  not  without  its  effect  on  Harwood; 
he  was  surprised  to  find  how  agreeable  it  was  to  be 
thus  familiarly  addressed  by  the  leader  in  such  a 
gathering. 

Bassett  suggested  that  he  speak  to  Mrs.  Bassett 
and  Marian,  who  were  spending  a  few  days  in  town, 
and  he  found  them  in  the  hotel  parlor,  where  Bassett 

(303) 


A   HOOSIER   CHRONICLE 

joined  them  shortly.  Mrs.  Bassett  and  Dan  had 
always  got  on  well  together;  his  nearness  to  her 
husband  brought  him  close  to  the  domestic  circle; 
and  he  had  been  invariably  responsive  to  her  de 
mands  upon  his  time.  Dan  had  learned  inevitably 
a  good  deal  of  the  inner  life  of  the  Bassetts,  and 
now  and  then  he  had  been  aware  that  Mrs.  Bassett 
was  sounding  him  discreetly  as  to  her  husband's 
plans  and  projects;  but  these  approaches  had  been 
managed  with  the  nicest  tact  and  discretion.  In 
her  long  absences  from  home  she  had  lost  touch 
with  Bassett's  political  interests  and  occupations, 
but  she  knew  of  his  break  with  Thatcher.  She 
prided  herself  on  being  a  woman  of  the  world,  and 
while  she  had  flinched  sometimes  at  the  attacks 
made  upon  her  husband,  she  was  nevertheless  proud 
of  his  influence  in  affairs.  Bassett  had  once,  at  a  time 
when  he  was  being  assailed  for  smothering  some 
measure  in  the  senate,  given  her  a  number  of  books 
bearing  upon  the  anti-slavery  struggle,  in  which  she 
read  that  the  prominent  leaders  in  that  movement 
had  suffered  the  most  unjust  attacks,  and  while  it 
was  not  quite  clear  wherein  lay  Bassett's  likeness  to 
Lincoln,  Lovejoy,  and  Wendell  Phillips,  she  had  been 
persuaded  that  the  most  honorable  men  in  public 
life  are  often  the  targets  of  scandal.  Her  early  years 
in  Washington  with  her  father  had  impressed  her 
imagination;  the  dream  of  returning  there  as  the 
wife  of  a  Senator  danced  brightly  in  her  horizons. 
It  would  mean  much  to  Marian  and  Blackford  if 
their  father,  like  their  Grandfather  Singleton,  should 
attain  a  seat  in  the  Senate.  And  she  was  aware  that 

(304) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

without  such  party  service  as  Bassett  was  render 
ing,  with  its  resulting  antagonisms,  the  virulent 
newspaper  attacks,  the  social  estrangements  that 
she  had  not  escaped  in  Fraserville,  a  man  could  not 
hope  for  party  preferment. 

Bassett  had  recently  visited  Blackford  at  the 
military  school  where  his  son  was  established,  and 
talk  fell  upon  the  boy. 

11  Black  likes  to  have  a  good  time,  but  he  will  come 
out  all  right.  The  curriculum  does  n't  altogether  fit 
him  —  that's  his  only  trouble." 

Bassett  glanced  at  Harwood  for  approval  and  Dan 
promptly  supported  the  father's  position.  Blackford 
had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  been  threatened  with  ex 
pulsion  lately  for  insubordination.  Bassett  had  con 
fessed  to  Dan  several  times  his  anxiety  touching  the 
boy.  To-day,  when  the  lad's  mother  had  just  re 
turned  after  a  long  sojourn  in  a  rest  cure,  was  not  a 
fit  occasion  for  discussing  such  matters. 

"What's  Allen  doing?"  asked  Marian.  "I  sup 
pose  now  that  papa  is  having  a  rumpus  with  Mr. 
Thatcher  I  shall  never  see  him  any  more." 

"You  should  n't  speak  so,  Marian.  A  hotel  parlor 
is  no  place  to  discuss  your  father's  affairs,"  admon 
ished  Mrs.  Bassett. 

"Oh,  Allen 's  ever  so  much  fun.  He 's  a  Socialist  or 
something.  Aunt  Sally  likes  him  ever  so  much. 
Aunt  Sally  likes  Mr.  Thatcher,  too,  for  that  matter," 
she  concluded  boldly. 

"Mr.  Thatcher  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said 
Bassett  soberly. 

"You  can  be  awfully  funny  when  you  want  to, 

(305) ' 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

papa,"  replied  Marian.  "As  we  came  through  Pitts- 
burg  this  morning  I  bought  a  paper  that  told  about 
'Stop,  Look,  Listen.'  But  Allen  won't  mind  if  you 
do  whistle  to  his  father  to  keep  off  the  track." 

"Mr.  Thatcher's  name  was  never  mentioned  by 
me  in  any  such  connection,"  replied  Bassett;  but  he 
laughed  when  Marian  leaned  over  and  patted  his 
cheek  to  express  her  satisfaction  in  her  father's 
cleverness. 

"  I  think  it  unfortunate  that  you  have  gone  to  war 
with  that  man,"  remarked  Mrs.  Bassett  wearily. 

"You  dignify  it  too  much  by  calling  it  a  war," 
Harwood  interjected.  "We  don't  want  such  men  in 
politics  in  this  state  and  somebody  has  to  deal  with 
them." 

11 1  guess  it  will  be  a  lively  scrap  all  right  enough," 
said  Marian,  delighted  at  the  prospect.  "We're  go 
ing  to  move  to  the  city  this  fall,  Mr.  Harwood.  Has  n't 
papa  told  you?" 

Mrs.  Bassett  glanced  at  her  husband  with  alert 
suspicion,  thinking  that  perhaps  in  her  absence  he 
had  been  conniving  to  this  end  with  Marian. 

Bassett  smiled  at  his  daughter's  adroitness  in 
taking  advantage  of  Harwood's  presence  to  intro 
duce  this  subject;  it  had  been  the  paramount  issue 
with  her  for  several  years. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  enough  to  stay  at  Fraserville  the 
rest  of  my  days  if  I  get  through  another  Waupe- 
gan  summer  safely,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "The  mere 
thought  of  moving  is  horrible!" 

"Oh,  we  would  n't  exactly  move  in  coming  here; 
we'd  have  an  apartment  in  one  of  these  comfortable 

(306) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

new  houses  and  come  down  while  the  legislature's 
in  session,  so  we  can  be  with  papa.  And  there's  ever 
so  much  music  here  now,  and  the  theatres,  and  I 
could  have  a  coming-out  party  here.  You  know  I 
never  had  one,  papa.  And  it  would  be  nice  to  be 
near  Aunt  Sally;  she's  getting  old  and  needs  us." 

"Yes;  she  undoubtedly  does,"  said  Bassett,  with 
faint  irony. 

Her  daughter's  rapid  fire  of  suggestions  wearied 
Mrs.  Bassett.  She  turned  to  Harwood :  — 

"Mr.  Bassett  and  Marian  have  been  telling  me, 
Mr.  Harwood,  that  Aunt  Sally  went  back  to  college 
with  Sylvia  Garrison  after  Professor  Kelton's  death. 
Poor  girl,  it's  quite  like  Aunt  Sally  to  do  that.  Syl 
via  must  be  very  forlorn,  with  all  her  people  gone. 
I  think  Aunt  Sally  knew  her  mother.  I  hope  the 
girl  is  n't  wholly  destitute?" 

"No,  the  Professor  left  a  small  estate  and  Miss 
Garrison  expects  to  teach,"  Dan  answered. 

"Dan  is  the  administrator,"  remarked  Bassett. 
41 1  'm  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  Miss  Gar 
rison's  affairs  are  in  good  hands,  Hallie." 

"Aunt  Sally  is  very  fond  of  you,  Mr.  Harwood; 
I  hope  you  appreciate  that,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett. 
41  Aunt  Sally  does  n't  like  everybody." 

"Aunt  Sally's  a  brick,  all  right,"  declared  Marian, 
as  an  accompaniment  to  Dan's  expression  of  his 
gratification  that  Mrs.  Owen  had  honored  him  with 
her  friendship. 

"It's  too  bad  the  girl  will  have  to  teach,"  said 
Mrs.  Bassett;  "it  must  be  a  dog's  life." 

"I  think  Miss  Garrison  doesn't  look  at  it  that 

(307) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

way,"  Harwood  intervened.  "She  thinks  she's  in 
the  world  to  do  something  for  somebody;  she's  a 
very  interesting,  a  very  charming  young  woman." 

"Well,  I  have  n't  seen  her  in  five  years;  she  was 
only  a  young  girl  that  summer  at  the  lake.  How  soon 
will  Aunt  Sally  be  back?  I  do  hope  she's  coming 
to  Waupegan.  If  I  'd  known  she  was  going  to  Welles- 
ley,  we  could  have  waited  for  her  in  New  York,  and 
Marian  and  I  could  have  gone  with  them  to  see 
Sylvia  graduated.  I  always  wanted  to  visit  the  col- 
lege." 

"  It  was  better  for  you  to  come  home,  Hallie,"  said 
Mr.  Bassett.  "You  are  not  quite  up  to  sight-seeing 
yet.  And  now,"  he  added,  "Dan  and  I  have  some 
business  on  hand  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  I  'm  going 
to  send  you  and  Marian  for  an  automobile  ride  before 
dinner.  You  must  quit  the  moment  you  are  tired. 
Wish  we  could  all  go,  but  I  have  n't  seen  Dan  much 
lately,  and  as  I  'm  going  home  with  you  to-morrow 
we  shan't  have  another  chance." 

When  his  wife  and  daughter  had  been  dispatched 
in  the  motor  Bassett  suggested  that  they  go  to  a 
private  room  he  had  engaged  in  the  hotel,  first  giv 
ing  orders  at  the  office  that  he  was  not  to  be  dis 
turbed.  He  did  not,  however,  escape  at  once  from 
men  who  had  been  lying  in  wait  for  him  in  the  lobby 
and  corridors,  but  he  made  short  work  of  them. 

"I  want  to  thresh  out  some  things  with  you  to 
day,  and  I'll  be  as  brief  as  possible,"  said  Bassett 
when  he  and  Harwood  were  alone.  "You  got  mat 
ters  fixed  satisfactorily  at  Montgomery  —  no  trouble 
about  your  appointment?" 

(308) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

"None;  Mrs.  Owen  had  arranged  all  that." 

"  You  mentioned  to  her,  did  you,  my  offer  to  help?" 

"Oh,  yes!  But  she  had  already  arranged  with 
Akins,  the  banker,  about  the  administrator's  bond, 
and  we  went  at  once  to  business." 

"That's  all  right;  only  I  wanted  to  be  sure  Mrs. 
Owen  understood  I  had  offered  to  help  you.  She's 
very  kind  to  my  wife  and  children;  Mrs.  Bassett  has 
been  almost  like  a  daughter  to  her,  you  know.  There 's 
really  some  property  to  administer,  is  there?" 

"Very  little,  sir.  The  Professor  had  been  obliged 
to  drop  part  of  his  life  insurance  and  there  was  only 
two  thousand  in  force  when  he  died.  The  house  he 
lived  in  may  bring  another  two.  There  are  some  pub 
lishers'  contracts  that  seem  to  have  no  value.  And 
the  old  gentleman  had  invested  what  was  a  large 
sum  for  him  in  White  River  Canneries." 

Bassett  frowned  and  he  asked  quickly:  — 

"How  much?" 

"Five  thousand  dollars." 

"As  much  as  that?" 

Bassett's  connection  with  White  River  Canneries 
was  an  incident  of  the  politician's  career  to  which 
Harwood  had  never  been  wholly  reconciled.  Nor  was 
he  pleasantly  impressed  by  Bassett's  next  remark, 
which,  in  view  of  Mrs.  Bassett's  natural  expectations, 
• —  and  these  Dan  had  frequently  heard  mentioned 
at  the  capital,  —  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  leading 
question.  "That's unfortunate.  But  I  suppose  Mrs. 
Owen,  by  reason  of  her  friendship  for  the  grandfather, 
won't  let  the  girl  suffer." 

"She's  not  the  sort  of  girl  who  would  be  depend- 

(309) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

in  any  case.  She  holds  rather  altruistic  ideas  in 
fact,"  remarked  Harwood.  "I  mean,"  he  added, 
seeing  that  Bassett  waited  for  him  to  explain  him 
self,  "that  Miss  Garrison  feels  that  she  starts  life 
in  debt  to  the  world  —  by  reason  of  her  own  oppor 
tunities  and  so  on;  she  expects  to  make  payments 
on  that  debt." 

"In  debt?"  Bassett  repeated  vacantly.  "Oh,  not 
literally,  I  see!  She  expects  to  teach  and  help  others 
in  that  way.  That's  commendable.  But  let  me  see." 

He  had  taken  an  unsharpened  lead  pencil  from  his 
pocket  and  was  slipping  it  through  his  fingers  ab 
sently,  allowing  its  blunt  ends  to  tap  the  arm  of 
his  chair  at  intervals.  After  a  moment's  silence  he 
plunged  into  his  own  affairs. 

"You  probably  saw  my  tip  to  Thatcher  in  the 
'Courier'?  I  guess  everybody  has  seen  it  by  this 
time,"  he  added  grimly;  and  he  went  on  as  though 
making  a  statement  his  mind  had  thoroughly  re 
hearsed:  "Thatcher  and  I  have  been  pretty  thick. 
We  Ve  been  in  a  good  many  business  deals  together. 
We've  been  useful  to  each  other.  He  had  more 
money  than  I  had  to  begin  with,  but  I  had  other 
resources  —  influence  and  so  on  that  he  needed.  I 
guess  we  Ve  quits  on  the  business  side.  You  may 
be  interested  to  know  that  I  never  had  a  cent  of 
money  in  his  breweries  and  distilleries ;  but  I '  ve  helped 
protect  the  traffic  in  return  for  support  he  has  given 
some  of  my  own  enterprises.  I  never  owned  a  penny 
in  that  Fraserville  brewery,  for  instance ;  but  I ' ve 
been  pointed  out  as  its  owner.  They've  got  the  idea 
here  in  Indiana  that  saloons  are  my  chief  joy  in  life; 

(310) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

but  nothing  is  farther  from  the  truth.  When  Mrs. 
Bassett  has  been  troubled  about  that  I  have  always 
been  able  to  tell  her  with  a  good  conscience  that  I 
had  n't  a  penny  in  the  business.  I  Ve  frankly  antag 
onized  legislation  directed  against  the  saloon,  for 
I  Ve  never  taken  any  stock  in  this  clamor  of  the  Pro 
hibitionists  and  temperance  cranks  generally;  but 
I  've  stood  consistently  for  a  proper  control.  Thatcher 
and  I  got  along  all  right  until  he  saw  that  the  party 
was  coming  into  power  again  and  got  the  senatorial 
bee  in  his  bonnet.  He 's  got  the  idea  that  he  can  buy 
his  way  in;  and  to  buy  a  seat  he's  got  to  buy  my 
friends.  That's  a  clear  proposition,  is  n't  it?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  have  n't  seen  that  he  had  any  personal 
influence  worth  counting." 

"Exactly.  Now,  I  don't  intend  that  Ed  Thatcher 
shall  buy  a  seat  in  the  United  States  Senate  if  our 
party  in  Indiana  has  one  to  dispose  of.  I  'm  not  so 
good  myself,  but  when  I  found  that  Thatcher  had 
begun  to  build  up  a  little  machine  for  himself,  I 
resolved  to  show  him  that  I  can't  be  used  by  any 
man  so  long  as  he  thinks  he  needs  me  and  then  kicked 
out  when  I  'm  in  the  way.  And  I  've  got  some  state 
pride,  too,  and  with  all  the  scandals  going  around 
in  other  states  over  the  sale  of  seats  at  Washington 
I  'm  not  going  to  have  my  party  in  the  state  where 
I  was  born  and  where  I  have  lived  all  my  life  lend 
itself  to  the  ambitions  of  an  Ed  Thatcher.  I  think 
you  share  that  feeling?" 

"The  people  of  the  whole  state  will  commend 
that,"  replied  Dan  warmly.  "And  if  you  want  to 
go  to  the  Senate  — " 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"I  don't  want  anything  from  my  party  that  it 
does  n't  want  me  to  have,"  interrupted  Bassett. 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor.  An  unusual  color 
had  come  into  his  face,  but  otherwise  he  betrayed 
no  agitation.  He  crossed  from  the  door  to  the  window 
and  resumed  his  seat. 

"They've  said  of  me  that  I  fight  in  the  dark; 
that  I  'm  a  man  of  secret  and  malign  methods.  The 
'Advertiser'  said  only  this  morning  that  I  have  no 
courage;  that  I  never  make  an  attack  where  it 
costs  me  anything.  I  've  already  proved  that  to  be 
a  lie.  My  attack  on  Thatcher  is  likely  to  cost  me  a 
good  deal.  You  may  be  sure  he  won't  scruple  to 
make  the  bill  as  heavy  as  he  can.  I  'm  talking  to 
you  freely,  and  I  '11  say  to  you  that  I  expect  the  better 
element  of  the  party  to  rally  to  my  support.  You 
see,  I'm  going  to  give  you  idealists  a  chance  to  do 
something  that  will  count.  Thatcher  is  not  a  foe  to 
be  despised.  Here's  his  reply  to  my  'Stop,  Look, 
Listen,'  editorial.  The  sheriff  served  it  on  me  just 
as  I  stepped  into  the  elevator  to  come  up  here." 

The  paper  Harwood  took  wonderingly  was  a  writ 
citing  Bassett  to  appear  as  defendant  in  a  suit 
brought  in  the  circuit  court  by  Edward  G.  Thatcher 
against  the  Courier  Publishing  Company,  Morton 
Bassett,  and  Sarah  Owen. 

Bassett  stretched  himself  at  ease  in  his  chair  and 
explained. 

"I  wanted  a  newspaper  and  he  was  indifferent 
about  it  at  the  time;  but  we  went  in  together,  and 
he  consented  that  I  should  have  a  controlling  in 
terest.  As  I  was  tied  up  tight  right  then  I  had  to  get 

(312) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

Mrs.  Owen  to  help  me  out.  It  was  n't  the  kind  of 
deal  you  want  to  hawk  about  town,  and  neither 
Thatcher  nor  I  cared  to  have  it  known  for  a  while 
that  we  had  bought  the  paper.  But  it's  hardly  a 
secret  now,  of  course.  Mrs.  Owen  and  I  together 
own  one  hundred  and  fifty-one  shares  of  the  total 
of  three  hundred;  Thatcher  owns  the  rest  and  he 
was  satisfied  to  let  it  go  that  way.  He  signed  an 
agreement  that  I  should  manage  the  paper,  and 
said  he  did  n't  want  anything  but  dividends." 

"Mrs.  Owen's  interest  is  subject  to  your  wishes, 
of  course;  that  goes  without  saying." 

"Well,  I  guaranteed  eight  per  cent  on  her  in 
vestment,  but  we've  made  it  lately,  easily.  I  've  now 
got  to  devise  some  means  of  getting  rid  of  Thatcher; 
but  we  '11  let  him  cool  till  after  the  convention.  Mrs. 
Owen  won't  be  back  for  several  weeks,  I  suppose?" 

"No;  she  and  Miss  Garrison  will  return  immedi 
ately  after  the  commencement  exercises." 

"Well,  Thatcher  brought  that  suit,  thinking  that 
if  he  could  throw  the  paper  into  a  receivership 
he'd  run  up  the  price  when  it  came  to  be  sold  and 
shake  me  out.  He  knew,  too,  that  it  would  annoy 
Mrs.  Owen  to  be  involved  in  litigation.  It's  surpris 
ing  that  he  would  incur  her  wrath  himself;  she's 
always  been  mighty  decent  to  Ed  and  kind  to  his 
boy.  But  I  '11  have  to  buy  her  stock  and  let  her 
out;  it's  a  delicate  business,  and  for  Mrs.  Bas- 
sett's  sake  I  've  got  to  get  her  aunt  out  as  quickly  as 
possible." 

"That,  of  course,  will  be  easily  managed.  It's 
too  bad  she's  away  just  now." 

(313) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"  It  was  the  first  time  I  ever  asked  her  help  in  any 
of  my  business  affairs,  and  it's  unfortunate.  The 
fact  is  that  Mrs.  Bassett  does  n't  know  of  it." 

He  rose  and  crossed  the  room  slowly  with  his 
hands  thrust  deep  into  his  trousers  pockets. 

"But  if  Mrs.  Owen  is  guaranteed  against  loss 
there's  no  ground  for  criticizing  you,"  said  Dan. 
"There's  nothing  to  trouble  about  on  that  side  of 
it,  I  should  think." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  troubling  about  that,"  replied  Bas 
sett  shortly.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  walked 
to  the  window,  gazing  out  on  the  street  in  silence 
for  several  minutes.  Then  he  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed. 

"I  told  you,  Dan,  when  you  opened  our  office  in 
the  Boordman  Building,  that  if  ever  the  time  came 
when  you  did  n't  want  to  serve  me  any  longer  you 
were  to  feel  free  to  quit.  You  are  under  no  obliga 
tions  to  me  of  any  sort.  I  caught  a  bargain  in  you ; 
you  have  been  useful  to  me  in  many  ways;  you  have 
carried  nearly  the  whole  burden  of  the  paper-mill 
receivership  in  a  way  to  win  me  the  praise  of  the 
court  and  all  others  interested.  If  you  should  quit 
me  to-night  I  should  still  be  your  debtor.  I  had 
about  decided  to  leave  you  out  of  my  calculations 
in  politics;  you  have  the  making  of  a  good  lawyer 
and  if  you  opened  an  office  to-morrow  you  would 
find  clients  without  trouble.  You  are  beginning  to 
be  known,  very  well  known  for  a  man  of  your  years." 

Harwood  demurred  feebly,  unheeded  by  Bassett, 
who  continued  steadily. 

"I  had  thought  for  a  time  that  I  should  n't  en- 

(3H) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

courage  you  to  take  any  part  in  politics  —  at  least 
in  my  affairs.  The  receivership  has  been  giving  you 
enough  to  do;  and  the  game,  after  all,  is  a  hard  one. 
Even  after  I  decided  to  break  with  Thatcher  I 
thought  I'd  leave  you  out  of  it:  that's  why  I  gave 
you  no  intimation  of  what  was  coming,  but  put  the 
details  into  Atwill's  hands.  I  had  really  meant  to 
show  you  a  proof  of  that  editorial,  but  I  was  n't 
sure  until  they  had  to  close  the  page  that  night  that  I 
was  ready  to  make  the  break.  I  had  been  pretty 
hot  that  evening  at  the  Country  Club  when  I  saw 
Pettit  and  Thatcher  chumming  together;  I  wanted 
to  be  sure  I  had  cooled  off.  But  I  find  that  I  've  got 
in  the  habit  of  relying  on  you;  I've  been  open  with 
you  from  the  beginning,  and  as  you  know  I  'm  not 
much  given  to  taking  men  into  my  confidence.  But 
I  've  been  leaning  on  you  a  good  deal  —  more,  in 
fact,  than  I  realized." 

There  was  no  questioning  Bassett's  sincerity,  nor 
was  there  any  doubt  that  this  appeal  was  having 
its  effect  on  the  younger  man.  If  Bassett  had  been 
a  weakling  timorously  making  overtures  for  help, 
Harwood  would  have  been  sensible  of  it;  but  a  man 
of  demonstrated  force  and  intelligence,  who  had 
probably  never  talked  thus  to  another  soul  in  his 
life,  was  addressing  him  with  a  candor  at  once  dis 
arming  and  compelling.  It  was  not  easy  to  say  to 
a  man  from  whom  he  had  accepted  every  kindness 
that  he  had  ceased  to  trust  him;  that  while  he  had 
been  his  willing  companion  on  fair-weather  voyages, 
he  would  desert  without  a  qualm  before  the  tempest. 
But  even  now  Bassett  had  asked  nothing  of  him; 

(315) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

why  should  he  harden  his  heart  against  the  man  who 
had  been  his  friend? 

"You  have  your  ideals  —  fine  ideas  of  public 
service  that  I  admire.  Our  party  needs  such  men 
as  you;  the  young  fellows  could  n't  get  away  from 
us  fast  enough  after  '96;  many  of  the  sons  of  old- 
time  Democrats  joined  the  Republicans.  Fitch  has 
spoken  to  me  of  you  often  as  the  kind  of  man  we 
ought  to  push  forward,  and  I'm  willing  to  put  you 
out  on  the  firing-line,  where  you  can  work  for  your 
ideals.  My  help  will  handicap  you  at  first,"  —  his 
voice  grew  dry  and  hard  here, — "  but  once  you  have 
got  a  start  you  can  shake  me  off  as  quick  as  you 
like.  It's  a  perfectly  selfish  proposition  I  'm  making, 
Harwood;  it  simply  gets  down  to  this,  that  I  need 
your  help." 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Bassett;  if  I  can  serve  you  in  any 
way — " 

"Anything  you  can  do  for  me  you  may  do  if  you 
don't  feel  that  you  will  be  debasing  yourself  in  fight 
ing  under  my  flag.  It's  a  black  flag,  they  say  —  just 
as  black  as  Thatcher's.  I  don't  believe  you  want  to 
join  Thatcher;  the  question  is,  do  you  want  to  stick 
to  me?" 

Bassett  had  spoken  quietly  throughout.  He  had 
made  no  effort  to  play  upon  Harwood's  sympathies 
or  to  appeal  to  his  gratitude.  He  was,  in  common 
phrase,  to  be  taken  or  let  alone.  Harwood  realized 
that  he  must  either  decline  outright  or  declare  his 
fealty  in  a  word.  It  was  in  no  view  a  debatable  mat 
ter;  he  could  not  suggest  points  of  difference  or  even 
inquire  as  to  the  nature  of  the  service  to  be  exacted. 

(3i6) 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

He  was  face  to  face  with  a  man  who,  he  had  felt  that 
night  of  their  first  meeting  at  Fraserville,  gave  and 
received  hard  blows.  Yet  he  did  not  doubt  that  if 
their  relations  terminated  to-day  Bassett  would  deal 
with  him  magnanimously.  He  realized  that  after  all 
it  was  not  Bassett  who  was  on  trial;  it  was  Daniel 
Harwood ! 

He  saw  his  life  in  sharp  fulgurations;  the  farm 
(cleared  of  debt  through  Bassett's  generosity,  to  be 
sure!)  where  his  father  and  brothers  struggled  to 
wrest  a  livelihood  from  reluctant  soil,  and  their 
pride  and  hope  in  him ;  he  saw  his  teachers  at  college, 
men  who  had  pointed  the  way  to  useful  and  hon 
orable  lives;  and  more  than  all,  Sumner  rose  before 
him  —  Sumner  who  had  impressed  him  more  than 
any  other  man  he  had  ever  known.  Sumner's  clean- 
cut  visage  was  etched  grimly  in  his  consciousness; 
verily  Sumner  would  not  have  dallied  with  a  man  of 
Bassett's  ilk.  He  had  believed  when  he  left  college 
that  Sumner's  teaching  and  example  would  be  a 
buckler  and  shield  to  him  all  the  days  of  his  life;  and 
here  he  was,  faltering  before  a  man  to  whom  the  great 
teacher  would  have  given  scarce  a  moment's  con 
temptuous  thought.  He  could  even  hear  the  profes 
sor's  voice  as  he  ironically  pronounced  upon  sordid 
little  despots  of  Bassett's  stamp.  And  only  forty-eight 
hours  earlier  he  had  been  talking  to  a  girl  on  the 
campus  at  Madison  who  had  spoken  of  idealism  and 
service  in  the  terms  of  which  he  had  thought  of 
those  things  when  he  left  college.  Even  Allen 
Thatcher,  in  his  whimsical  fashion,  stood  for  ideals, 
and  dreamed  of  the  heroic  men  who  had  labored 

(31?) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

steadfastly  for  great  causes.  Here  was  his  chance 
now  to  rid  himself  of  Bassett;  to  breathe  free  air 
again!  On  the  other  hand,  Bassett  had  himself  sug 
gested  that  Harwood,  once  in  a  position  to  command 
attention,  might  go  his  own  gait.  His  servitude 
would  be  for  a  day  only,  and  by  it  he  should  win 
eternal  freedom.  He  caught  eagerly  at  what  Bassett 
was  saying,  grateful  that  the  moment  of  his  choice 
was  delayed. 

"The  state  convention  is  only  three  weeks  off  and 
I  had  pretty  carefully  mapped  it  out  before  the 
1  Courier'  dropped  that  shot  across  Thatcher's  bows. 
I  've  arranged  for  you  to  go  as  delegate  to  the  state 
convention  from  this  county  and  to  have  a  place  on 
the  committee  on  resolutions.  This  will  give  you  an 
introduction  to  the  party  that  will  be  of  value.  They 
will  say  you  are  my  man  —  but  they  've  said  that  of 
other  men  who  have  lived  it  down.  I  want  Thatcher 
to  have  his  way  in  that  convention,  naming  the 
ticket  as  far  as  he  pleases,  and  appearing  to  give  me 
a  drubbing.  The  party's  going  to  be  defeated  in 
November  —  there's  no  ducking  that.  We'll  let 
Thatcher  get  the  odium  of  that  defeat.  About  the 
next  time  we'll  go  in  and  win  and  there  won't  be 
any  more  Thatcher  nonsense.  This  is  politics,  you 
understand." 

Harwood  nodded ;  but  Bassett  had  not  finished ;  it 
clearly  was  not  his  purpose  to  stand  the  young  man 
in  a  corner  and  demand  a  choice  from  him.  Bassett 
pursued  negotiations  after  a  fashion  of  his  own. 

"Thatcher  thinks  he  has  scored  heavily  on  me  by 
sneaking  into  Fraserville  and  kidnaping  old  Ike 


THE  KINGDOMS  OF  THE  WORLD 

Pettit.  That  fellow  has  always  been  a  nuisance  to 
me;  I  carried  a  mortgage  on  his  newspaper  for  ten 
years,  but  Thatcher  has  mercifully  taken  that  bur 
den  off  my  shoulders  by  paying  it.  Thatcher  can 
print  anything  he  wants  to  about  me  in  my  own 
town;  but  it  will  cost  him  some  money;  those  people 
up  there  don't  think  I'm  so  wicked,  and  the  'Fraser 
County  Democrat'  won't  have  any  advertisements 
for  a  while  but  fake  medical  ads.  But  Ike  will  have 
more  room  for  the  exploitation  of  his  own  peculiar 
brand  of  homely  Hoosier  humor." 

Bassett  smiled,  and  Harwood  was  relieved  to  be 
able  to  laugh  aloud.  He  was  enjoying  this  glimpse  of 
the  inner  mysteries  of  the  great  game.  His  disdain  of 
Thatcher's  clumsy  attempts  to  circumvent  Bassett 
was  complete ;  in  any  view  Bassett  was  preferable  to 
Thatcher.  As  the  senator  from  Eraser  had  said, 
there  was  really  nothing  worse  than  Thatcher,  with 
his  breweries  and  racing-stable,  his  sordidness  and 
vulgarity.  Thatcher's  efforts  to  practice  Bassett's 
methods  with  Bassett's  own  tools  was  a  subject  for 
laughter.  It  seemed  for  the  moment  that  Harwood 's 
decision  might  be  struck  on  this  note  of  mirth.  Dan 
wondered  whether,  in  permitting  Bassett  thus  to 
disclose  his  plans  and  purposes,  he  had  not  already 
nailed  his  flag  to  the  Bassett  masthead. 

"I  don't  want  these  fellows  who  are  old-timers 
in  state  conventions  —  particularly  those  known 
to  be  my  old  friends  —  to  figure  much,"  Bassett 
continued.  "I'm  asking  your  aid  because  you're 
new  and  clean-handed.  The  meanest  thing  they 
can  say  against  you  is  that  you're  in  my  camp. 

(319) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

They  tell  me  you're  an  effective  speaker,  a  number 
of  county  chairmen  have  said  your  speeches  in  the 
last  campaign  made  a  good  impression.  I  shall  want 
you  to  prepare  a  speech  about  four  minutes  long, 
clean-cut  and  vigorous,  —  we'll  decide  later  what 
that  speech  shall  be  about.  I  've  got  it  in  mind  to 
spring  something  in  that  convention  just  to  show 
Thatcher  that  there  are  turns  of  the  game  he  does  n't 
know  yet.  I  'm  going  to  give  you  a  part  that  will 
make  'em  remember  you  for  some  time,  Dan." 

Bassett's  smile  showed  his  strong  sound  teeth. 
He  rarely  laughed,  but  he  yielded  now  to  the  con 
tagion  of  the  humor  he  had  aroused  in  Harwood. 

''It's  a  big  chance  you're  giving  me  to  get  into 
things,"  replied  Harwood.  "I'll  do  my  best."  Then 
he  added,  in  the  glow  of  his  complete  surrender: 
"You've  never  asked  me  to  do  a  dishonorable  thing 
in  the  four  years  I've  been  with  you.  There's 
nothing  I  ought  n't  to  be  glad  to  do  from  any  stand 
point,  and  I  'm  grateful  for  this  new  mark  of  your 
confidence." 

"That's  all  right,  Dan.  There  are  things  in  store 
for  young  men  in  politics  in  this  state  —  Republi 
cans  and  Democrats,"  said  Bassett,  without  elation 
or  any  show  of  feeling  whatever.  "Once  the  lime 
light  hits  you,  you  can  go  far  —  very  far.  I  must  go 
over  to  the  'Courier'  office  now  and  see  Atwill." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  THUNDER  OF   THE  CAPTAINS 

MARIAN  had  suggested  to  her  mother  that 
they  visit  Mrs.  Owen  in  town  before  settling 
at  Waupegan  for  the  summer,  and  it  was 
Marian's  planning  that  made  this  excursion  synchron 
ize  with  the  state  convention.  Mr.  Bassett  was  not 
consulted  in  the  matter;  in  fact,  since  his  wife's 
return  from  Connecticut  he  had  been  unusually 
occupied,  and  almost  constantly  away  from  Fraser- 
ville.  Mrs.  Bassett  and  her  daughter  arrived  at  the 
capital  the  day  after  Mrs.  Owen  reached  home  from 
Wellesley  with  Sylvia,  and  the  Bassetts  listened 
perforce  to  their  kinswoman's  enthusiastic  account 
of  the  commencement  exercises.  Mrs.  Owen  had,  it 
appeared,  looked  upon  Smith  and  Mount  Holyoke 
also  on  this  eastward  flight,  and  these  inspections, 
mentioned  in  the  most  casual  manner,  did  not  con 
tribute  to  Mrs.  Bassett's  happiness. 

Finding  that  her  father  was  inaccessible  by  tele 
phone,  Marian  summoned  Harwood  and  demanded 
tickets  for  the  convention ;  she  would  make  an  occa 
sion  of  it,  and  Mrs.  Owen  and  Sylvia  should  go  with 
them.  Mrs.  Bassett  and  her  family  had  always 
enjoyed  the  freedom  of  Mrs.  Owen's  house;  it  was 
disheartening  to  find  Sylvia  established  in  Delaware 
Street  on  like  terms  of  intimacy.  The  old  heartache 

(321) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

over  Marian's  indifference  to  the  call  of  higher  edu 
cation  for  women  returned  with  a  new  poignancy  as 
Mrs.  Bassett  inspected  Sylvia's  diploma,  as  proud 
ly  displayed  by  Mrs.  Owen  as  though  it  marked 
the  achievement  of  some  near  and  dear  member  of 
the  family.  Sylvia's  undeniable  good  looks,  her 
agreeable  manner,  her  ready  talk,  and  the  attention 
she  received  from  her  elders,  were  well  calculated  to 
arm  criticism  in  a  prejudiced  heart.  On  the  evening 
of  their  arrival  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Martin  and  the 
Reverend  John  Ware  had  called,  and  while  Mrs. 
Bassett  assured  herself  that  these  were,  in  a  sense, 
visits  of  condolence  upon  Andrew  Kelton's  grand 
daughter,  the  trio,  who  were  persons  of  distinction, 
had  seemed  sincerely  interested  in  Mrs.  Owen's 
prot6g6e.  Mrs.  Bassett  was  obliged  to  hear  a  lively 
dialogue  between  the  minister  and  Sylvia  touching 
some  memory  of  his  first  encounter  with  her  about 
the  stars.  He  brought  her  as  a  "commencement 
present"  Bacon's  "Essays."  People  listened  to 
Sylvia;  Sylvia  had  things  to  say!  Even  the  gruff 
admiral  paid  her  deference.  He  demanded  to  know 
whether  it  was  true  that  Sylvia  had  declined  a  posi 
tion  at  the  Naval  Observatory,  which  required  the 
calculation  of  tides  for  the  Nautical  Almanac.  Mrs. 
Bassett  was  annoyed  that  Sylvia  had  refused  a  posi 
tion  that  would  have  removed  her  from  a  proximity 
to  Mrs.  Owen  that  struck  her  as  replete  with  danger. 
And  yet  Mrs.  Bassett  was  outwardly  friendly,  and 
she  privately  counseled  Marian,  quite  unnecessarily, 
to  be  "nice"  to  Sylvia.  On  the  same  evening  Mrs. 
Bassett  was  disagreeably  impressed  by  Harwood's 

(322) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

obvious  rubrication  in  Mrs.  Owen's  good  books.  It 
seemed  darkly  portentous  that  Dan  was,  at  Mrs. 
Owen's  instigation,  managing  Sylvia's  business  af 
fairs  ;  she  must  warn  her  husband  against  this  em 
ployment  of  his  secretary  to  strengthen  the  ties 
between  Mrs.  Owen  and  this  object  of  her  benevo 
lence. 

Mrs.  Bassett's  presence  at  the  convention  did  not 
pass  unremarked  by  many  gentlemen  upon  the  floor, 
or  by  the  newspapers. 

"While  the  state  chairman  struggled  to  bring  the 
delegates  to  order,  Miss  Marian  Bassett,  daughter  of 
the  Honorable  Morton  Bassett,  of  Fraser  County, 
was  a  charming  and  vivacious  figure  in  the  balcony. 
At  a  moment  when  it  seemed  that  the  band  would 
never  cease  from  troubling  the  air  with  the  strains  of 
1  Dixie,'  Miss  Bassett  tossed  a  carnation  into  the 
Marion  County  delegation.  The  flower  was  deftly 
caught  by  Mr.  Daniel  Harwood,  who  wore  it  in  his 
buttonhole  throughout  the  strenuous  events  of  the 
day." 

This  item  was  among  the  "Kodak  Shots"  sub 
joined  to  the  "Advertiser's"  account  of  the  con 
vention.  It  was  stated  elsewhere  in  the  same  journal 
that  "never  before  had  so  many  ladies  attended  a 
state  convention  as  graced  this  occasion.  The  wives 
of  both  Republican  United  States  Senators  and  of 
many  prominent  politicians  of  both  parties  were 
present,  their  summer  costumes  giving  to  the  severe 
lines  of  the  balcony  a  bright  note  of  color."  The 
"Capital,"  in  its  minor  notes  of  the  day,  remarked 
upon  the  perfect  amity  that  prevailed  among  the 

(323) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

wives  and  daughters  of  Republicans  and  Democrats. 
It  noted  also  the  presence  in  Mrs.  Bassett's  party  of 
her  aunt,  Mrs.  Jackson  Owen,  and  of  Mrs.  Owen's 
guest,  Miss  Sylvia  Garrison,  a  graduate  of  this 
year's  class  at  Wellesley. 

The  experiences  and  sensations  of  a  delegate  to  a 
large  convention  are  quite  different  from  those  of  a 
reporter  at  the  press  table,  as  Dan  Harwood  realized ; 
and  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  was  keyed  to  a 
proper  pitch  of  excitement  by  the  day's  prospects. 
In  spite  of  Bassett's  promise  that  he  need  not  trouble 
to  help  elect  himself  a  delegate,  Harwood  had  been 
drawn  sharply  into  the  preliminary  skirmish  at  the 
primaries.  He  had  thought  it  wise  to  cultivate  the 
acquaintance  of  the  men  who  ruled  his  own  county 
even  though  his  name  had  been  written  large  upon 
the  Bassett  slate. 

In  the  weeks  that  intervened  between  his  inter 
view  with  Harwood  in  the  upper  room  of  the  Whit- 
comb  and  the  primaries,  Bassett  had  quietly  visited 
every  congressional  district,  holding  conferences 
and  perfecting  his  plans.  "Never  before,"  said  the 
"Advertiser,"  "had  Morton  Bassett'§  pernicious 
activity  been  so  marked."  The  belief  had  grown  that 
the  senator  from  Fraser  was  in  imminent  peril;  in 
the  Republican  camp  it  was  thought  that  while 
Thatcher  might  not  control  the  convention  he  would 
prove  himself  strong  enough  to  shake  the  faith  of 
many  of  Bassett's  followers  in  the  power  of  their 
chief.  There  had  been,  apparently,  a  hot  contest 
at  the  primaries.  In  the  northern  part  of  the  state, 
in  a  region  long  recognized  as  Bassett's  stronghold, 

(324) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

Thatcher  had  won  easily;  at  the  capital  the  contest 
ants  had  broken  even,  a  result  attributable  to  Thatch 
er's  residence  in  the  county.  The  word  had  passed 
among  the  faithful  that  Thatcher  money  was  plen 
tiful,  and  that  it  was  not  only  available  in  this  pre 
liminary  skirmish,  but  that  those  who  attached  them 
selves  to  Thatcher  early  were  to  enjoy  his  bounty 
throughout  his  campaign  —  which  might  be  pro 
tracted  —  for  the  senatorship.  Bassett  was  not 
scattering  largess;  it  was  whispered  that  the  mpney 
he  had  used  previously  in  politics  had  come  out  of 
Thatcher's  pocket  and  that  he  would  have  less  to 
spend  in  future. 

Bassett,  in  keeping  with  his  forecast  to  Harwood, 
had  made  a  point  of  having  many  new  men,  whose 
faces  were  unfamiliar  in  state  conventions,  chosen 
at  the  primaries  he  controlled,  so  that  in  a  super 
ficial  view  of  the  convention  the  complexion  of  a  con 
siderable  body  of  the  delegates  was  neutral.  Here 
and  there  among  the  delegations  sat  men  who  knew 
precisely  Bassett's  plans  and  wishes.  The  day  fol 
lowing  the  primaries,  Bassett,  closeted  with  Har 
wood  in  his  room  at  the  Boordman  Building,  had 
run  the  point  of  a  walking-stick  across  every  county 
in  the  state,  reciting  from  memory  just  how  many 
delegates  he  absolutely  controlled,  those  he  could 
get  easily  if  he  should  by  any  chance  need  them, 
and  the  number  of  undoubted  Thatcher  men  there 
were  to  reckon  with.  In  Dan's  own  mingling  with 
the  crowd  at  the  Whitcomb  the  night  before  the  con 
vention  he  had  learned  nothing  to  shake  his  faith  in 
Bassett's  calculations. 

(325) 


A   HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

The  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit,  of  Eraser,  was  one 
of  the  most  noteworthy  figures  on  the  floor.  Had  he 
not  thrown  off  the  Bassett  yoke  and  trampled  the 
lord  of  Fraser  County  underfoot?  Did  not  the  op 
position  press  applaud  the  editor  for  so  courageously 
wresting  from  the  despicable  chieftain  the  control 
of  a  county  long  inured  to  slavery?  Verily,  the  Honor 
able  Isaac  had  done  much  to  encourage  belief  in  the 
guileless  that  such  wrere  the  facts.  Even  the  "Cour 
ier"  proved  its  sturdy  independence  by  printing  the 
result  of  the  primary  without  extenuation  or  aught 
set  down  in  malice.  The  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit 
undoubtedly  believed  in  himself  as  the  savior  of 
Fraser.  He  had  personally  led  the  fight  in  the  Fraser 
County  primaries  and  had  vanquished  Bassett ! ' '  Bas 
sett  had  fought  gamely,"  the  Republican  organ 
averred,  to  make  more  glorious  the  Honorable  Isaac's 
victory.  It  was  almost  inconceivable,  they  said,  that 
Bassett,  who  had  dominated  his  party  for  years, 
should  not  be  able  to  elect  himself  a  delegate  to  a 
state  convention. 

In  a  statement  printed  in  the  "Courier,"  Bassett 
had  accepted  defeat  in  a  commendable  spirit  of  re 
signation.  He  and  Atwill  had  framed  that  statement 
a  week  before  the  primaries,  and  Miss  Rose  Farrell 
had  copied  at  least  a  dozen  drafts  before  Bassett's 
critical  sense  was  satisfied.  Harwood  was  increas 
ingly  amused  by  the  manifestations  of  Bassett's 
ironic  humor.  "I  have  never  yet,"  ran  the  state 
ment,  "placed  my  own  ambitions  before  the  wishes 
of  my  party;  and  if,  when  the  Democrats  of  Fraser 
County  meet  to  choose  a  candidate  for  state  sena- 

(326) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

tor,  they  are  not  disposed  to  renominate  me  for  a 
seat  which  I  have  held  for  twelve  years,  I  shall  gladly 
resign  to  another  and  give  my  loyal  support  to  the 
candidate  of  their  choice."  It  was  whispered  that 
the  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit  would  himself  be  a  can 
didate  for  the  nomination.  The  chattel  mortgage 
scrolls  in  the  office  of  the  recorder  of  Eraser  County 
indicated  that  his  printing-press  no  longer  owed  al 
legiance  to  the  Honorable  Morton  Bassett.  Thatcher 
had  treated  Pettit  generously,  taking  his  unsecured 
note  for  the  amount  advanced  to  cleanse  the  "  Fraser 
County  Democrat"  of  the  taint  of  Bassettism. 

As  they  gathered  in  the  convention  hall  many  of  the 
delegates  were  unable  to  adjust  themselves  to  the  fact 
that  Bassett  had  not  only  failed  of  election  as  dele 
gate  from  his  own  county,  but  that  he  was  not  even 
present  as  a  spectator  of  the  convention.  The  scene 
was  set,  the  curtain  had  risen,  but  Hamlet  came  not  to 
the  platform  before  the  castle.  Many  men  sought 
Harwood  and  inquired  in  awed  whispers  as  to  Bas 
sett's  whereabouts,  but  he  gave  evasive  answers. 
He  knew,  however,  that  Bassett  had  taken  an  early 
morning  train  for  Waupegan,  accompanied  by  Fitch, 
their  purpose  being  to  discuss  in  peace  and  quiet  the 
legal  proceeding  begun  to  gain  control  of  the  "  Cour 
ier."  The  few  tried  and  trusted  Bassett  men  who 
knew  exactly  Bassett's  plans  for  the  convention 
listened  in  silence  to  the  hubbub  occasioned  by  their 
chief's  absence;  silence  was  a  distinguishing  trait 
of  Bassett's  lieutenants.  Among  the  uninitiated 
there  were  those  who  fondly  believed  that  Bassett 
was  killed,  not  scotched,  and  they  said  among  them- 

(327) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

selves  that  the  party  and  the  state  were  well  rid  of 
him.  Thatcher  was  to  be  reckoned  with,  but  he  was 
no  worse  than  Bassett:  with  such  cogitations  they 
comforted  themselves  amid  the  noise  and  confusion. 
The  old  Bassett  superstition  held,  however,  with 
many:  this  was  only  another  of  the  Boss's  deep-laid 
schemes,  and  he  would  show  his  hand  in  due  season 
and  prove  himself,  as  usual,  master  of  the  situation. 
Others  imagined  that  Bassett  was  sulking,  and  these 
were  not  anxious  to  be  the  target  of  his  wrath  when 
he  chose  to  emerge  from  his  tent  in  full  armor. 

A  young  woman  reporter,  traversing  the  galleries 
to  note  the  names  and  gowns  of  the  ladies  present, 
sought  Mrs.  Bassett  for  information  as  to  her  hus 
band's  whereabouts.  When  Mrs.  Bassett  hesitated 
discreetly,  Marian  rose  promptly  to  the  occasion:  — 

"Papa  's  gone  fishing,"  she  replied  suavely. 

This  was  not  slow  to  reach  the  floor.  "Papa's 
gone  fishing"  gained  wide  currency  as  the  answer  to 
the  most  interesting  question  of  the  day. 

The  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit,  seated  majestically 
with  the  Fraser  County  delegation,  tested  the  acous 
tics  of  the  hall  at  the  first  opportunity.  While  the 
chairman  of  the  state  central  committee  was  en 
deavoring  to  present  as  the  temporary  chairman  of 
the  convention  a  patriot  known  as  the  "War  Eagle  of 
the  Wabash,"  the  gentleman  from  Fraser  insisted 
upon  recognition. 

"Who  is  that  preposterous  fat  man?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Owen,  plying  her  palm-leaf  fan  vigorously. 

"That's  Mr.  Pettit,  from  our  town,"  said  Mrs. 
Bassett.  "He's  an  editor  and  lecturer." 

(328) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

"He's  the  man  that  defeated  papa  in  our  prima 
ries,"  added  Marian  cheerfully.  "  He's  awfully  funny, 
everybody  says,  and  I  suppose  his  defeating  papa  was 
a  joke.  He's  going  to  say  something  funny  now." 

"He  does  n't  need  to,"  said  Sylvia,  not  the  least 
interested  of  the  spectators.  "They  are  laughing 
before  he  begins." 

The  chairman  of  the  state  committee  feigned 
not  to  hear  or  see  the  delegate  from  Fraser,  but  Mr. 
Pettit  continued  to  importune  the  chair  amid  much 
laughter  and  confusion.  The  chairman  had  hardened 
his  heart,  but  the  voice  of  the  gentleman  from 
Fraser  alone  rose  above  the  tumult,  and  in  a  moment 
of  comparative  calm  he  addressed  the  chair  unrecog 
nized  and  unpermitted. 

"I  beg  to  call  your  attention,  sir,  to  the  presence 
in  the  gallery  of  many  of  the  fair  daughters  of  the 
old  Hoosier  State.  (Applause.)  They  hover  above 
us  like  guardian  angels.  They  have  come  in  the 
spirit  that  brought  their  sisters  of  old  to  watch  true 
knights  battle  in  the  tourney.  As  a  mark  of  respect 
to  these  ladies  who  do  us  so  much  honor,  I  ask  the 
chair  to  request  gentlemen  to  desist  from  smoking, 
and  that  the  sergeant-at-arms  be  ordered  to  enforce 
the  rule  throughout  our  deliberations."  (Long- 
continued  applause.) 

The  state  chairman  was  annoyed  and  showed  his 
annoyance.  He  had  been  about  to  ingratiate  himself 
with  the  ladies  by  making  this  request  unprompted; 
he  made  it  now,  but  the  gentleman  from  Fraser  sat 
down  conscious  that  the  renewed  applause  was  his. 

"Why  don't  they  keep  on  smoking?"  asked  Mrs. 

(329) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Owen.  "The  hall  could  n't  be  any  fuller  of  smoke 
than  it  is  now." 

"If  they  would  all  put  on  their  coats  the  room 
would  be  more  beautiful,"  said  Marian.  "They  al 
ways  say  the  Republicans  are  much  more  gentle 
manly  than  the  Democrats." 

"Hush,  Marian;  some  one  might  hear  you,"  Mrs. 
Bassett  cautioned. 

She  did  not  understand  her  husband's  absence;  he 
rarely  or  never  took  her  into  his  confidence  in  politi 
cal  matters.  She  had  not  known  until  that  morning 
that  he  was  not  to  be  present  at  the  convention. 
She  did  not  relish  the  idea  that  he  had  been  defeated 
in  the  primaries;  in  her  mind  defeat  was  inseparable 
from  dishonor.  The  "War  Eagle  of  the  Wabash" 
was  in  excellent  voice  and  he  spoke  for  thirty  minutes; 
his  speech  would  have  aroused  greater  enthusiasm  if 
it  had  not  been  heard  in  many  previous  state  con 
ventions  and  on  the  hustings  through  many  cam 
paigns.  Dan  Voorhees  had  once  expressed  his  ad 
miration  of  that  speech ;  and  it  was  said  that  Tom 
Hendricks  had  revised  the  original  manuscript  the 
year  he  was  chosen  Vice-President.  It  was  a  safe 
speech,  containing  nothing  that  any  good  American 
might  not  applaud;  it  named  practically  every  Dem 
ocratic  President  except  the  twenty-second  and 
twenty-fourth,  whom  it  seemed  the  better  part  of 
valor  just  then  to  ignore.  With  slight  emendations 
that  same  oration  served  admirably  for  high-school 
commencements,  and  it  had  a  recognized  cash  value 
on  the  Chautauqua  circuit.  The  peroration,  closing 
with  "  Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O  Ship  of  State! "  was  well 

(330) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

calculated  to  bring  strong  men  to  their  feet.  The 
only  complaint  the  War  Eagle  might  have  lodged 
against  the  Ship  of  State  (in  some  imaginable  ad 
miralty  court  having  jurisdiction  of  that  barnacled 
old  frigate)  would  have  been  for  its  oft-repeated 
rejection  of  his  own  piloting. 

The  permanent  chairman  now  disclosed  was  a 
man  of  business,  who  thanked  the  convention  briefly 
and  went  to  work.  By  the  time  the  committee  on 
resolutions  had  presented  the  platform  (on  which 
Bassett  and  Harwood  had  collaborated)  the  con 
vention  enjoyed  its  first  sensation  as  Thatcher  ap 
peared,  moving  slowly  down  the  crowded  main 
aisle  to  join  the  delegation  of  his  county.  His  friends 
had  planned  a  demonstration  for  his  entrance,  and 
in  calling  it  an  ovation  the  newspapers  hardly  mag 
nified  its  apparent  spontaneity  and  volume.  The 
man  who  had  undertaken  the  herculean  task  of 
driving  Morton  Bassett  out  of  politics  was  entitled 
to  consideration,  and  his  appearance  undoubtedly 
interrupted  the  business  of  the  convention  for  fully 
five  minutes.  Thatcher  bowed  and  waved  his  hand 
as  he  sat  down.  The  cordiality  of  his  reception  both 
pleased  and  embarrassed  him.  He  fanned  himself 
with  his  hat  and  feigned  indifference  to  the  admir 
ation  of  his  countrymen. 

"Papa  always  gets  more  applause  than  that," 
Marian  remarked  to  Sylvia.  "I  was  at  the  state 
convention  two  years  ago  and  father  came  in  late, 
just  as  Mr.  Thatcher  did.  They  always  come  in  late 
after  all  the  stupid  speeches  have  been  made;  they're 
surer  to  stir  up  a  big  rumpus  that  way." 

(331) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Sylvia  gave  serious  heed  to  these  transactions  of 
history.  Her  knowledge  of  politics  was  largely  de 
rived  from  lectures  she  had  heard  at  college  and 
from  a  diligent  reading  of  newspapers.  The  report 
of  the  committee  on  resolutions  —  a  succinct  docu 
ment  to  each  of  whose  paragraphs  the  delegates  rose 
in  stormy  approval  —  had  just  been  read. 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  listen  to  such  stuff," 
said  % Marian  during  a  lull  in  the  shouting.  "It's 
only  the  platform  and  they  don't  mean  a  word  of  it. 
There's  Colonel  Ramsay,  of  Aurora,  —  the  man  with 
white  hair  who  has  just  come  on  the  stage.  He  had 
dinner  at  our  house  once  and  he's  perfectly  lovely. 
He's  a  beautiful  speaker,  but  they  won't  let  him 
speak  any  more  because  he  was  a  gold  bug  —  what 
ever  that  is.  They  say  Colonel  Ramsay  has  stopped 
gold-bugging  now  and  wants  to  be  governor.  Sylvia, 
all  these  men  that  don't  want  to  be  United  States 
Senator  want  to  be  governor.  Is  n't  it  funny?  I 
don't  see  why  silver  money  is  n't  just  as  good  as  any 
other  kind,  do  you?" 

"They  told  me  at  college,"  said  Sylvia,  "but  it's 
rather  complicated.  Why  did  n't  your  father  come 
to  the  convention  even  if  he  was  n't  a  delegate? 
He  could  have  sat  in  the  gallery;  I  suppose  a  lot 
of  those  men  down  there  are  not  really  delegates." 

"Oh,  that  would  n't  be  papa's  way  of  doing  things. 
I  wish  he  had  come,  just  on  mama's  account;  she 
takes  everything  so  hard.  If  papa  ever  did  half  the 
naughty  things  they  say  he  does  he  'd  be  in  the  peni 
tentiary  good  and  tight.  I  should  like  to  marry  a 
public  man;  if  I  trusted  a  man  enough  to  marry 

(332) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

him  I  should  n't  be  jarred  a  bit  by  what  the  news 
papers  said  of  him.  I  like  politics;  I  don't  know  what 
it's  all  about,  but  I  think  the  men  are  ever  so  inter 
esting." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Sylvia;  "only  I  don't  under 
stand  why  they  make  so  much  noise  and  do  so  little. 
That  platform  they  read  a  little  bit  ago  seemed  splen 
did.  I  read  a  lot  of  political  platforms  once  in  college 
—  they  were  part  of  the  course  —  and  that  was  the 
best  one  I  ever  heard.  It  declared  for  laws  against 
child  labor,  and  I  'm  interested  in  that;  and  for  juve 
nile  courts  and  a  lot  of  the  new  enlightened  things. 
It  was  all  fine." 

"Do  you  think  so?  It  sounded  just  like  a  trom 
bone  solo  to  me.  Mr.  Harwood  was  on  that  committee. 
Did  n't  you  hear  his  name  read?  He's  one  of  these 
high  brows  in  politics,  and  father's  going  to  push 
him  forward  so  he  can  accomplish  the  noble  things 
that  interest  him.  Father  told  me  Mr.  Harwood 
would  be  a  delegate  to  the  convention.  That's  the 
reason  I  wanted  to  come.  I  hope  he  will  make  a 
speech ;  they  say  he 's  one  of  the  best  of  the  younger 
men.  I  heard  him  at  the  Opera  House  at  Fraserville 
in  the  last  campaign  and  he  kept  me  awake,  I  can 
tell  you.  And  funny!  You  would  n't  think  he  could 
be  funny." 

"Oh,  I  can  see  that  he  has  humor  —  the  lines 
around  his  mouth  show  that." 

They  had  discussed  the  convention  and  its  pos 
sibilities  at  Mrs.  Owen's  breakfast  table  and  with 
the  morning  newspapers  as  their  texts.  Sylvia  had 
gained  the  impression  that  Bassett  had  met  a  serious 

(333) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

defeat  in  the  choice  of  delegates,  and  she  had  been 
conscious  that  Mrs.  Bassett  was  distressed  by  the 
newspaper  accounts  of  it.  Marian  bubbled  on  elucid- 
atively,  answering  all  of  Sylvia's  questions. 

"Don't  you  think  that  because  papa  isn't  here 
he  won't  be  heard  from;  I  think  I  know  papa  better 
than  that.  He  did  n't  think  this  convention  would 
amount  to  enough  for  him  to  trouble  with  it.  I  told 
Aunt  Sally  not  to  talk  much  before  mother  about 
papa  and  politics;  you  will  notice  that  Aunt  Sally 
turned  the  subject  several  times  this  morning.  That 
lawsuit  Mr.  Thatcher  brought  against  papa  and 
Aunt  Sally  made  her  pretty  hot,  but  papa  will  fix  that 
up  all  right.  Papa  always  fixes  up  everything,"  she 
concluded  admiringly. 

It  was  in  Sylvia's  mind  that  she  was  witnessing 
a  scene  of  the  national  drama  and  that  these  men 
beneath  her  in  the  noisy  hall  were  engaged  upon 
matters  more  or  less  remotely  related  to  the  busi 
ness  of  self-government.  She  had  derived  at  college 
a  fair  idea  of  the  questions  of  the  day,  but  the  par 
liamentary  mechanism  and  the  thunder  of  the  cap 
tains  and  the  shouting  gave  to  politics  a  new,  con 
crete  expression.  These  delegates,  drawn  from  all 
occupations  and  conditions  of  life,  were  citizens  of 
a  republic,  endeavoring  to  put  into  tangible  form  their 
ideas  and  preferences;  and  similar  assemblies  had, 
she  knew,  for  years  been  meeting  in  every  American 
commonwealth,  enacting  just  such  scenes  as  those 
that  were  passing  under  her  eyes.  Her  gravity 
amused  Mrs.  Owen. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Sylvia;  they  are  all  kind  to 

(334) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

their  families  and  most  of  'em  earn  an  honest  living. 
I  've  attended  lots  of  conventions  of  all  parties  and 
they're  all  about  alike:  there  are  more  standing  col 
lars  in  a  Republican  convention  and  more  whiskers 
when  the  Prohibitionists  get  together,  but  they're 
all  mostly  corn-fed  and  human.  A  few  fellows  with 
brains  in  their  heads  run  all  the  rest." 

"Look,  Marian,  Mr.  Harwood  seems  to  be  getting 
ready  to  do  something,"  said  Sylvia.  "I  wonder 
what  that  paper  is  he  has  in  his  hand.  He's  been 
holding  it  all  morning." 

Harwood  sat  immediately  under  them.  Several 
times  men  had  passed  notes  to  him,  whereupon  he 
had  risen  and  searched  out  the  writer  to  give  his 
answer  with  a  nod  or  shake  of  the  head.  When 
Thatcher  appeared,  Dan  had  waited  for  the  hubbub 
to  subside  and  then  he  left  his  seat  to  shake  hands 
with  Bassett's  quondam  ally.  He  held  meanwhile 
a  bit  of  notepaper  the  size  of  his  hand,  and  scruti 
nized  it  carefully  from  time  to  time.  It  contained 
the  precise  programme  of  the  convention  as  arranged 
by  Bassett.  Morton  Bassett  was  on  a  train  bound 
for  the  pastoral  shades  of  Waupegan  a  hundred  miles 
away,  but  the  permanent  chairman  had  in  his  vest 
pocket  a  copy  of  Bassett's  scheme  of  exercises;  even 
Thatcher's  rapturous  greeting  had  been  ordered  by 
Bassett.  There  had  already  been  one  slight  slip;  the 
eagerness  of  the  delegates  to  proceed  to  the  selection 
of  the  state  ticket  had  sent  matters  forward  for 
a  moment  beyond  the  chairman's  control.  A  dele 
gate  with  a  weak  voice  had  gained  recognition  for 
the  laudable  purpose  of  suggesting  a  limitation  upon 

(335) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

nominating  speeches;  the  permanent  chairman  had 
mistaken  him  for  another  gentleman  for  whom  he 
was  prepared,  and  he  hastened  to  correct  his  blun 
der.  He  seized  the  gavel  and  began  pounding  vigor 
ously  and  the  man  with  the  weak  voice  never  again 
caught  his  eye. 

In  the  middle  of  the  hall  a  delegate  now  drew 
attention  to  himself  by  rising  upon  a  chair;  he  held 
a  piece  of  paper  in  his  hand  and  waved  it;  and  the 
chairman  promptly  took  cognizance  of  him.  The 
chairman  referred  to  him  as  the  gentleman  from  Pu- 
laski,  but  he  might  have  been  the  gentleman  from 
Vallombrosa  for  all  that  any  one  cared.  The  con 
vention  was  annoyed  that  a  gentleman  from  Pulaski 
County  should  have  dared  to  flourish  manuscript 
when  there  were  innumerable  orators  present  fully 
prepared  to  speak  extempore  on  any.  subject.  For 
all  that  any  one  knew  the  gentleman  from  Pulaski 
might  be  primed  with  a  speech  on  the  chinch  bug 
or  the  Jewish  kritarchy;  a  man  with  a  sheet  of  paper 
in  his  hand  was  a  formidable  person,  if  not  indeed  a 
foe  of  mankind,  and  he  was  certainly  not  to  be 
countenaced  or  encouraged  in  a  hot  hall  on  a  day  of 
June.  Yet  all  other  human  beings  save  the  gentle 
man  from  Pulaski  were  as  nothing,  it  seemed,  to  the 
chairman.  The  Tallest  Delegate,  around  whose  lean 
form  a  frock  coat  hung  like  a  fold  of  night,  and  who 
flung  back  from  a  white  brow  an  immense  quantity 
of  raven  hair,  sought  to  relieve  the  convention  of 
the  sight  and  sound  of  the  person  from  Pulaski.  The 
Tallest  Delegate  was  called  smartly  to  order;  he 
rebelled,  but  when  threatened  with  the  sergeant- 

(336) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

at-arms  subsided  amid  jeers.  The  gentleman  from 
Pulaski  was  indulged  to  the  fullest  extent  by  the 
chairman,  to  whom  it  had  occurred  suddenly  that  the 
aisles  must  be  cleared.  The  aisles  were  cleared  and 
delegates  were  obliged  to  find  their  seats  before  the 
unknown  gentleman  from  Pulaski  was  allowed  to  pro 
ceed.  Even  the  War  Eagle  had  received  no  such  con 
sideration.  The  gentleman  from  Pulaski  calmly  waited 
for  a  completer  silence  than  the  day  had  known. 
Ten  men  in  the  hall  knew  what  was  coming  —  not 
more;  Miss  Rose  Farrell  had  typed  ten  copies  of  the 
memorandum  which  Harwood  held  in  his  hand! 

The  gentleman  from  Pulaski  did  not  after  all  refer 
to  his  manuscript;  he  spoke  in  a  high,  penetrating 
voice  that  reached  the  farthest  corner  of  the  hall,  re 
citing  from  memory:  — 

"Be  it  resolved  by  this  convention  that,  whereas 
two  years  hence  it  will  be  the  privilege  and  duty 
of  the  Indiana  Democracy  to  elect  a  United  States 
Senator  to  fill  the  seat  now  occupied  by  a  Republican, 
we,  the  delegates  here  assembled,  do  hereby  pledge 
the  party's  support  for  the  office  of  Senator  in  Con 
gress  to  the  Honorable  Edward  G.  Thatcher,  of 
Marion  County." 

There  was  a  moment's  awed  calm  before  the 
storm  broke;  Thatcher  rose  in  his  seat  to  look  at  the 
strange  gentleman  from  Pulaski  who  had  thus  flung 
his  name  into  the  arena.  Thatcher  men  rose  and 
clamored  blindly  for  recognition,  without  the  faint 
est  idea  of  what  they  should  do  if  haply  the  cold  eye 
of  the  chairman  fell  upon  them.  The  galleries  joined 
in  the  uproar;  the  band  began  to  play  "On  the  Banks 

(337) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

of  the  Wabash"  and  was  with  difficulty  stopped; 
a  few  voices  cried  ' '  Bassett, ' '  but  cries  of  ' l  Thatcher ' ' 
rose  in  a  mighty  roar  and  drowned  them.  The  chair 
man  hammered  monotonously  for  order;  Mr.  Daniel 
Harwood  might  have  been  seen  to  thrust  his  memo 
randum  into  his  trousers  pocket;  he  bent  forward  in 
his  seat  with  his  eye  upon  the  chairman.  The  Honor 
able  Isaac  Pettit  had  been  for  a  moment  nonplussed; 
he  was  unacquainted  with  the  gentleman  from  Pu- 
laski,  nor  had  he  known  that  an  effort  was  to  be  made 
to  commit  the  convention  to  Thatcher's  candidacy; 
still  the  tone  of  the  resolution  was  friendly.  Thatcher, 
rising  to  his  feet,  was  noisily  cheered;  his  face  was 
red  and  his  manner  betokened  anger;  but  after 
glancing  helplessly  over  the  hall  he  sank  into  his 
seat.  The  chairman  thumped  with  his  gavel;  it 
seemed  for  a  moment  that  he  had  lost  control  of 
the  convention;  and  now  the  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit* 
was  observed  demanding  to  be  heard.  The  chair 
man  lifted  his  hand  and  the  noise  died  away.  It  lay 
in  his  power  to  ignore  the  resolution  wholly  or  to  rule 
it  out  of  order;  the  chairman  was  apparently  in  no 
haste  to  do  anything. 

"Good  old  Uncle  Ike,"  howled  some  one  encour 
agingly,  and  there  was  laughter  and  applause.  With 
superb  dignity  Mr.  Pettit  appealed  for  silence  with 
gestures  that  expressed  self-depreciation,  humility, 
and  latent  power  in  one  who  would,  in  due  course, 
explain  everything.  A  group  of  delegates  in  the  rear 
began  chanting  stridently,  " Order!  Order!"  and  it 
was  flung  back  antiphonally  from  a  dozen  other 
delegations. 

(338) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

Mr.  Harwood  became  active  and  climbed  upon 
his  chair.  Gentlemen  in  every  part  of  the  hall  seemed 
at  once  anxious  to  speak,  but  the  chairman  was  ap 
parently  oblivious  of  all  but  the  delegate  from  Marion. 
The  delegate  from  Marion,  like  the  mysterious  per 
son  from  Pulaski,  was  a  stranger  to  state  conven 
tions.  The  ladies  were  at  once  interested  in  the  young 
gentleman  with  the  red  carnation  in  his  buttonhole 
—  a  trim  young  fellow,  in  a  blue  serge  suit,  with  a 
blue  four-in-hand  knotted  under  a  white  winged 
collar.  As  he  waited  with  his  eye  on  the  chairman  he 
put  his  hand  to  his  head  and  smoothed  his  hair. 

"Is  Daniel  going  to  speak?"  asked  Mrs.  Owen. 
"He  ought  to  have  asked  me  if  he's  going  to  back 
Edward  Thatcher  for  Senator." 

"I  always  think  his  cowlick's  so  funny.  He's 
certainly  the  cool  one,"  said  Marian. 

11 1  don't  know  what  they're  talking  about  a  Sen 
ator  for,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "It's  very  unusual. 
If  I  'd  known  they  were  going  to  talk  about  that 
I  should  n't  have  come.  There's  sure  to  be  a  row." 

The  chairman  seemed  anxious  that  the  delegate 
from  Marion  should  be  honored  with  the  same  close 
attention  that  had  been  secured  for  the  stranger 
from  Pulaski. 

"I  hope  he'll  wait  till  they  all  sit  down,"  said 
Sylvia;  "  I  want  to  hear  him  speak." 

"You'll  hear  him,  all  right,"  said  Marian.  "You 
know  at  Yale  they  called  him  *  Foghorn '  Harwood, 
and  they  put  him  in  front  to  lead  the  cheering  at 
all  the  big  games." 

Apparently  something  was  expected  of  Mr.  Har- 

(339) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

wood  of  Marion.  Thatcher  had  left  his  seat  and 
was  moving  toward  the  corridors  to  find  his  lieuten 
ants.  Half  a  dozen  men  accosted  him  as  he  moved 
through  the  aisle,  but  he  shook  them  off  angrily. 
An  effort  to  start  another  demonstration  in  his  honor 
was  not  wholly  fruitless.  It  resulted  at  least  in  a 
good  deal  of  confusion  of  which  the  chair  was  briefly 
tolerant;  then  he  resumed  his  pounding,  while  Har- 
wood  stood  stubbornly  on  his  chair. 

The  Tallest  Delegate,  known  to  be  a  recent  convert 
to  Thatcher,  was  thoroughly  aroused,  and  advanced 
toward  the  platform  shouting;  but  the  chairman 
leveled  his  gavel  at  him  and  bade  him  sit  down. 
The  moment  was  critical;  the  veriest  tyro  felt  the 
storm-spirit  brooding  over  the  hall. 

The  voice  of  the  chairman  was  now  audible. 

"The  chair  recognizes  the  delegate  from  Marion. " 

"Out  of  order!  What's  his  name!"  howled  many 
voices. 

The  chairman  graciously  availed  himself  of  the 
opportunity  to  announce  the  name  of  the  gentleman 
he  had  recognized. 

"Mr.  Harwood,  of  Marion,  has  the  floor.  The 
convention  will  be  in  order.  The  gentleman  will  pro 
ceed." 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  rise  to  a  point  of  order." 

Dan's  voice  rose  sonorously;  the  convention  was 
relieved  to  find  that  the  gentleman  in  blue  serge 
could  be  heard;  he  was  audible  even  to  Mr.  Thatch 
er's  excited  counsellors  in  the  corridors. 

"The  delegate  will  kindly  state  his  point  of  order." 

The  chairman  was  quietly  courteous.    His  right 

(340) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

hand  rested  on  his  gavel,  he  thrust  his  left  into  the 
side  pocket  of  his  long  alpaca  coat.  He  was  an  old 
and  tried  hand  in  the  chair,  and  his  own  deep  ab 
sorption  in  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Harwood  communi 
cated  itself  to  the  delegates. 

Dan  uttered  rapidly  the  speech  he  had  committed 
to  memory  for  this  occasion  a  week  earlier.  Every 
sentence  had  been  carefully  pondered;  both  Bassett 
and  Atwill  had  blue  penciled  it  until  it  expressed 
concisely  and  pointedly  exactly  what  Bassett  wished 
to  be  said  at  this  point  in  the  convention's  proceed 
ings.  Interruptions,  of  applause  or  derision,  were  to 
be  reckoned  with;  but  the  speaker  did  not  once  drop 
his  voice  or  pause  long  enough  for  any  one  to  drive 
in  a  wedge  of  protest.  He  might  have  been  swamped 
by  an  uprising  of  the  whole  convention,  but  strange 
to  say  the  convention  was  intent  upon  hearing  him. 
Once  the  horde  of  candidates  and  distinguished  visi 
tors  on  the  platform  had  been  won  to  attention,  Har 
wood  turned  slowly  until  he  faced  the  greater  crowd 
behind  him.  Several  times  he  lifted  his  right  hand 
and  struck  out  with  it,  shaking  his  head  with  the 
vigor  of  his  utterance.  ("His  voice,"  said  the  "Ad 
vertiser's"  report,  "rumbles  and  bangs  like  a  bowl 
ing-alley  on  Saturday  night.  There  was  a  big  bump 
every  time  a  sentence  rumbled  down  the  hall  and 
struck  the  rear  wall  of  the  building.") 

"Sir,  I  make  the  obvious  point  of  order  that  there 
are  no  vacancies  to  fill  in  the  office  of  United  States 
Senator,  and  that  it  does  not  lie  within  the  province 
of  the  delegates  chosen  to  this  convention  to  pledge 
the  party  to  any  man.  I  do  not  question  the  motive 

(341) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

of  the  delegate  from  Pulaski  County,  who  is  my 
personal  friend ;  and  I  am  animated  by  no  feelings  of 
animosity  in  demanding  that  the  convention  pro 
ceed  to  the  discharge  of  its  obligations  without 
touching  upon  matters  clearly  beyond  its  powers. 
I  confidently  hope  and  sincerely  believe  that  our 
party  in  Indiana  is  soon  to  receive  a  new  commission 
of  trust  and  confidence  from  the  people  of  the  old 
Hoosier  State.  But  our  immediate  business  is  the 
choice  of  a  ticket  behind  which  the  Hoosier  Demo 
cracy  will  move  on  to  victory  in  November  like  an 
army  with  banners.  (Cheers.)  There  have  been  in 
timations  in  the  camp  of  our  enemy  that  the  party 
is  threatened  with  schism  and  menaced  by  factional 
wars;  but  I  declare  my  conviction  that  the  party 
is  more  harmonious  and  more  truly  devoted  to  high 
ideals  to-day  than  at  any  time  since  the  grand  old 
name  of  Democrat  became  potent  upon  Hoosier 
soil.  And  what  have  we  to  do  with  leaders?  Men 
come  and  men  go,  but  principles  alone  are  eternal 
and  live  forever.  The  great  task  of  our  party  must 
be  to  bring  the  government  back  to  the  people. 
(Scattering  applause.)  But  the  choice  of  an  invul 
nerable  state  ticket  at  this  convention  is  our  business 
and  our  only  business.  As  for  Indiana's  two  seats 
in  the  national  Senate  which  we  shall  soon  wrest 
from  our  adversaries,  in  due  season  we  shall  fill  them 
with  tried  men  and  true.  Sir,  let  us  remember  that 
whosoever  maketh  himself  a  king  speaketh  against 
Caesar.  Stop,  Look,  Listen!" 

Hardly  a  man  in  the  hall  so  dull  that  this  did  not 
penetrate!    Dan  had  given  to  his  last  words  a  weird, 

(342) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

mournful  intonation  whose  effect  was  startling.  He 
jumped  lightly  to  the  floor  and  was  in  his  seat  before 
the  deep  boom  of  his  voice  had  ceased  reverberating. 
Then  instantly  it  seemed  that  the  seventeen  hun 
dred  delegates  had  been  multiplied  by  ten,  and  that 
every  man  had  become  a  raving  lunatic.  This  was 
Bassett's  defiance  —  Bassett,  who  had  gone  fishing, 
but  not  before  planting  this  mine  for  the  confusion 
of  Thatcher.  A  hundred  men  who  had  already  com 
mitted  themselves  to  Thatcher  sought  to  rescue  their 
new  leader;  they  rose  upon  chairs  and  demanded  to 
be  heard.  "Stop,  Look,  Listen"  had  suggested  the 
idea  of  a  locomotive  bearing  down  upon  a  danger 
ous  crossing,  and  Bassett's  men  began  to  whistle. 
The  whistling  increased  in  volume  until  it  drowned 
the  shouts,  the  cheers,  and  the  laughter.  Ladies  in 
the  galleries  stopped  their  ears  while  the  whistling 
convention  earned  its  name.  It  now  occurred  to  the 
chairman,  who  had  wasted  no  energy  in  futile  efforts 
to  stay  the  storm,  that  he  had  a  duty  to  perform. 
Even  to  his  practiced  hand  the  restoration  of  order 
was  not  easy;  but  by  dint  of  much  bawling  and 
pounding  he  subdued  the  uproar.  Then  after  im 
pressive  deliberation  he  said :  — 

11 A  point  of  order  has  been  raised  against  the  re 
solution  offered  by  the  gentleman  from  Pulaski. 
It  is  the  ruling  of  the  chair  that  the  point  is  well 
taken.  The  resolution  is  out  of  order." 

This  was  greeted  with  great  applause;  but  the 
chair  checked  it  promptly.  The  ten  gentlemen  who 
had  copies  of  the  Bassett  programme  in  their  pockets 
were  not  surprised  by  the  decision.  Thatcher  stood 

(343) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

at  a  side  door  and  two  of  his  men  were  pushing  their 
way  through  the  aisles  to  reach  Pettit;  for  the  Hon 
orable  Isaac  Pettit  was  on  his  feet  demanding  recog 
nition  while  Thatcher's  delegates  shouted  to  him  to 
sit  down;  humiliation  must  go  no  farther,  and  if  the 
Fraser  County  editor  did  not  realize  that  his  new 
chief  was  the  victim  of  a  vile  trick,  the  gentleman 
from  Fraser  must  be  throttled,  if  necessary,  to 
prevent  a  further  affront  to  Thatcher's  dignity. 
Thatcher  was  purple  with  rage;  it  was  enough  to 
have  been  made  the  plaything  of  an  unscrupulous 
enemy  once,  without  having  one's  ambitions  repeat 
edly  kicked  up  and  down  a  convention  hall. 

The  chairman,  fully  rehearsed  in  his  part,  showed 
a  malevolent  disposition  to  continue  toward  the 
friends  of  Thatcher  an  attitude  at  once  benevolent 
and  just.  So  many  were  demanding  recognition 
amid  cat-calling  and  whistling  that  the  fairest  and 
least  partial  of  presiding  officers  might  \vell  have 
hesitated  before  singling  out  one  gentleman  when 
so  many  were  eagerly,  even  furiously,  desirous  of 
enlightening  the  convention.  But  the  presiding 
officer  was  obeying  the  orders  communicated  to 
him  by  a  gentleman  who  was  even  at  this  moment 
skimming  across  the  cool  waters  of  Lake  Waupe- 
gan.  It  would  more  fully  have  satisfied  the  chair 
man's  sense  of  humor  to  have  recognized  the  Hon 
orable  Isaac  Pettit  and  have  suffered  an  appeal 
from  the  ruling  of  the  chair,  which  presumably  the 
editor  wished  to  demand.  By  this  means  the  weak 
ness  of  Thatcher  might  have  expressed  itself  in 
figures  that  would  have  deepened  Thatcher's  abase- 

(344) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

ment  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow  partisans;  but  this  idea 
had  been  discussed  with  Bassett,  who  had  sharply 
vetoed  it,  and  the  chairman  was  not  a  man  lightly 
to  disobey  orders  even  to  make  a  Hoosier  holiday. 
He  failed  to  see  the  editor  of  the  "Fraser  County 
Democrat"  and  peremptorily  closed  the  incident. 
There  was  no  mistaking  his  temper  as  he  an 
nounced  :  — 

"The  chair  announces  that  the  next  business  in 
order  is  the  call  of  the  roll  of  counties  for  nomina 
tions  for  the  office  of  secretary  of  state.  What  is  the 
pleasure  of  the  convention?" 

Colonel  Ramsay  had  repaired  to  the  gallery 
to  enjoy  the  proceedings  with  Mrs.  Bassett's  party. 
In  spite  of  his  support  of  the  Palmer  and  Buck- 
ner  ticket  (how  long  ago  that  seems!),  the  Col 
onel  had  never  lost  touch  with  the  main  body  of 
his  party,  and  he  carried  several  Indiana  counties 
in  his  pocket.  His  relations  with  Bassett  had  never 
been  in  the  least  intimate,  though  always  outwardly 
cordial,  and  there  were  those  who  looked  to  him  to 
eliminate  the  Fraser  County  chief  from  politics.  He 
was  quite  as  rich  as  Bassett,  and  a  successful  lawyer, 
who  had  become  a  colonel  by  grace  of  a  staff  ap 
pointment  in  the  Spanish  War.  He  had  a  weakness 
for  the  poets,  and  his  speeches  were  informed  with 
that  grace  and  sentiment  which,  we  are  fond  of  say 
ing,  is  peculiar  to  Southern  oratory.  The  Colonel,  at 
all  fitting  occasions  in  our  commonwealth,  responded 
to  "the  ladies"  in  tender  and  moving  phrases.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  and  the  ladies  in  the  gallery  saw  in 
him  their  true  champion. 

(345) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Please  tell  us  —  we  don't  understand  a  bit  of 
it,"  pleaded  Marian  —  "what  it's  all  about,  Colonel 
Ramsay." 

"Oh,  it's  just  a  little  joke  of  your  father's; 
nothing  funnier  ever  happened  in  a  state  conven 
tion."  Colonel  Ramsay  grinned.  "The  key  to  the 
situation  is  right  there:  that  Pulaski  County  dele 
gate  offered  his  resolution  just  to  make  trouble;  it 
was  a  fake  resolution.  Of  course  the  chairman  is  in 
the  joke.  This  young  fellow  down  here  —  yes,  Har- 
wood  —  made  his  speech  to  add  to  the  gayety  of 
nations.  He  had  no  right  to  make  it,  of  course,  but 
the  word  had  been  passed  along  the  line  to  let  him  go 
through.  Amazing  vocal  powers,  that  boy,  —  you 
could  n't  have  stopped  him!" 

Sylvia  was  aware  that  Colonel  Ramsay's  explana 
tion  had  not  pleased  Mrs.  Bassett;  but  Mrs.  Owen 
evinced  no  feeling.  Marian  was  enjoying  Colonel 
Ramsay's  praise  of  her  father's  adroitness.  Near 
Sylvia  were  other  women  who  had  much  at  stake  in 
the  result  of  the  convention.  The  wife  of  a  candi 
date  for  secretary  of  state  had  invited  herself  to  a 
seat  beside  Mrs.  Bassett;  the  wife  of  a  Congressman 
who  wished  to  be  governor,  sat  near,  publishing  to  the 
world  her  intimate  acquaintance  with  Morton  Bas- 
sett's  family.  The  appearance  and  conduct  of  these 
women  during  the  day  interested  Sylvia  almost  as 
much  as  the  incidents  occurring  on  the  floor;  it  was  a 
new  idea  that  politics  had  a  bearing  upon  the  domes 
tic  life  of  the  men  who  engaged  in  the  eternal  contest 
for  place  and  power.  The  convention  as  a  spectacle 
was  immensely  diverting,  but  she  had  her  misgivings 

(346) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

about  it  as  a  transaction  in  history.  Colonel  Ramsay 
asked  her  politics  and  she  confessed  that  she  had 
none.  She  had  inherited  Republican  prejudices  from 
her  grandfather,  and  most  of  the  girls  she  had  known 
in  college  were  of  Republican  antecedents;  but  she 
liked  to  call  herself  an  independent. 

"You'd  better  not  be  a  Democrat,  Sylvia,"  Mrs. 
Owen  warned  her.  "  I  suffered  a  good  deal  in  my  hus 
band's  lifetime  from  being  one.  There  are  still  people 
in  this  town  who  think  a  Democrat's  the  same  as 
a  Rebel  or  a  Copperhead.  It  ain't  hardly  respectable 
yet,  being  a  Democrat,  and  if  they  don't  all  of  'em 
shut  up  about  the  'fathers'  and  the  Constitution, 
I'm  going  to  move  to  Mexico  where  it's  all  run  by 
niggers." 

Sylvia  had  singled  out  several  figures  in  the  drama 
enacting  below  for  special  attention.  The  chairman 
had  interested  her  by  reason  of  his  attitude  of  scrup 
ulous  fairness,  in  which  she  now  saw  the  transparent 
irony;  the  banalities  of  the  temporary  chairman  had 
touched  her  humor;  she  watched  him  for  the  rest  of 
the  morning  with  a  kind  of  awe  that  any  one  could 
be  so  dull,  so  timorous,  and  yet  be  chosen  to  address 
nearly  two  thousand  American  citizens  on  an  occa 
sion  of  importance.  She  was  unable  to  reconcile 
Thatcher's  bald  head,  ruddy  neck,  and  heavy 
shoulders  with  Marian's  description  of  the  rich  man's 
son,  who  dreamed  of  heroes  and  played  at  carpentry. 
Dan's  speech  had  not  been  without  its  thrill  for  her, 
and  she  now  realized  its  significance.  It  had  been  a 
part  of  a  trick,  and  in  spite  of  herself  she  could  not 
share  the  admiration  Colonel  Ramsay  was  expressing 

(347) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

for  Harwood's  share  in  it.  He  was  immeasurably 
superior  to  the  majority  of  those  about  him  in  the 
crowded  hall;  he  was  a  man  of  education,  a  college 
man,  and  she  had  just  experienced  in  her  own  life 
that  consecration,  as  by  an  apostolic  laying-on  of 
hands,  by  which  a  college  confers  its  honors  and 
imposes  its  obligations  upon  those  who  have  enjoyed 
its  ministry.  Yet  Harwood,  who  had  not  struck  her  as 
weak  or  frivolous,  had  lent  himself  to-day  to  a  bit  of 
cheap  claptrap  merely  to  humble  one  man  for  the 
glorification  of  another.  Bassett  she  had  sincerely 
liked  in  their  one  meeting  at  Waupegan ;  and  yet  this 
was  of  his  plotting  and  Harwood  was  his  mouthpiece 
and  tool.  It  did  not  seem  fair  to  take  advantage  of 
such  supreme  stupidity  as  Thatcher's  supporters  had 
manifested.  Her  disappointment  in  Harwood  —  and 
it  was  quite  that  —  was  part  of  her  general  disap 
pointment  in  the  methods  by  which  men  transacted 
the  serious  business  of  governing  themselves. 

Harwood  was  conscious  that  he  was  one  of  the 
chief  figures  in  the  convention;  every  one  knew  him 
now;  he  was  called  here  and  there  on  the  floor,  by 
men  anxious  to  impress  themselves  upon  Bassett's 
authorized  spokesman.  It  is  a  fine  thing  at  twenty- 
seven  to  find  the  doors  of  opportunity  flung  wide  — 
and  had  he  not  crossed  the  threshold  and  passed 
within  the  portal?  He  was  Bassett's  man;  every  one 
knew  that  now;  but  why  should  he  not  be  Bassett's 
man?  He  would  go  higher  and  farther  than  Bassett: 
Bassett  had  merely  supplied  the  ladder  on  which  he 
would  climb.  He  was  happier  than  he  had  ever  been 
before  in  his  life ;  he  had  experienced  the  intoxication 

(348) 


THE  THUNDER  OF  THE  CAPTAINS 

of  applause,  and  he  was  not  averse  to  the  glances  of 
the  women  in  the  gallery  above  him. 

The  nomination  of  candidates  now  went  forward 
rather  tamely,  though  relieved  by  occasional  sharp 
contests.  The  ten  gentlemen  who  had  been  favored 
with  copies  of  the  Bassett  programme  were  not  sur 
prised  that  so  many  of  Thatcher's  friends  were  nomi 
nated;  they  themselves  voted  for  most  of  them.  It 
seemed  remarkable  to  the  uninitiated  that  Bassett 
should  have  slapped  Thatcher  and  then  have  allowed 
him  to  score  in  the  choice  of  the  ticket.  The  "Ad 
vertiser,"  anxious  to  show  Bassett  as  strong  and 
malignant  as  possible,  expressed  the  opinion  that  the 
Fraserville  boss  had  not  after  all  appreciated  the  full 
force  of  the  Thatcher  movement. 

On  the  veranda  of  his  Waupegan  cottage  Bassett 
and  Fitch  enjoyed  the  wholesome  airs  of  the  country. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  the  fussy  little  steamer  that 
traversed  the  lake  paused  at  the  Bassett  dock  to 
deliver  a  telegram,  which  Bassett  read  without 
emotion.  He  passed  the  yellow  slip  of  paper  to 
Fitch,  who  read  it  and  handed  it  back. 

"  Harwood  's  a  clever  fellow;  but  you  ought  n't  to 
push  him  into  politics.  He's  better  than  that." 

"I  suppose  he  is,"  said  Bassett;  "but  I  need  him." 


CHAPTER  XX 

INTERVIEWS  IN   TWO   KEYS 

MRS.  BASSETT  remained  in  bed  the  day 
following  the  convention,  less  exhausted  by 
the  scenes  she  had  witnessed  than  appalled 
by  their  interpretation  in  the  newspapers.  The  reap 
pearance  of  Sylvia  Garrison  had  revived  the  appre 
hensions  which  the  girl's  visit  to  Waupegan  four 
years  earlier  had  awakened.  She  had  hoped  that 
Sylvia's  long  absences  might  have  operated  to 
diminish  Mrs.  Owen's  interest  and  she  had  managed 
in  one  way  and  another  to  keep  them  apart  during 
the  college  holidays,  but  the  death  of  Professor  Kelton 
had  evidently  thrown  Sylvia  back  upon  Mrs.  Owen. 
Jealous  fears  danced  blackly  in  Mrs.  Bassett's  tired 
brain. 

At  a  season  when  she  was  always  busiest  with  her 
farms  Mrs.  Owen  had  made  a  long  journey  to  see 
Sylvia  graduated;  and  here  was  the  girl  established 
on  the  most  intimate  terms  in  the  Delaware  Street 
house,  no  doubt  for  the  remainder  of  her  life.  Mrs. 
Owen  did  not  lightly  or  often  change  her  plans; 
but  she  had  abandoned  her  project  of  spending 
the  summer  at  the  lake  to  accommodate  herself  to 
the  convenience  of  her  protegee.  Mrs.  Bassett's 
ill-health  was  by  no  means  a  matter  of  illusion;  she 
was  not  well  and  her  sojourns  in  sanatoriums  had 

(350) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO   KEYS 

served  to  alienate  her  in  a  measure  from  her  family. 
Marian  had  grown  to  womanhood  without  realizing 
her  mother's  ideals.  She  had  hoped  to  make  a  very 
different  person  of  her  daughter,  and  Sylvia's  reap 
pearance  intensified  her  sense  of  defeat.  Even  in  the 
retrospect  she  saw  no  reason  why  Marian  might  not 
have  pursued  the  course  that  Sylvia  had  followed ;  in 
her  confused  annoyances  and  agitations  she  was 
bitter  not  only  against  Marian  but  against  Marian's 
father.  The  time  had  come  when  she  must  take  a 
stand  against  his  further  dallyings  in  politics. 

Her  day  at  the  convention  hall  had  yielded  only 
the  most  disagreeable  impressions.  Such  incidents  as 
had  not  eluded  her  own  understanding  on  the  spot 
had  been  freely  rendered  by  the  newspapers.  It 
was  all  sordid  and  gross  —  not  at  all  in  keeping 
with  her  first  experience  of  politics,  gained  in  her 
girlhood,  when  her  father  had  stood  high  in  the 
councils  of  the  nation,  winning  coveted  positions 
without  the  support  of  such  allies  as  she  had  seen 
cheering  her  husband's  triumph  on  the  floor  of  the 
convention.  There  had  strayed  into  her  hands  an 
envelope  of  newspaper  clippings  from  an  agency  that 
wished  to  supply  her,  as,  its  circular  announced,  it 
supplied  the  wives  of  many  other  prominent  Ameri 
cans,  with  newspaper  comments  on  their  husbands. 
As  a  bait  for  securing  a  client  these  examples  of  what 
the  American  press  was  saying  of  Morton  Bassett 
were  decidedly  ill-chosen.  The  "Stop,  Look,  Listen " 
editorial  had  suggested  to  many  influential  jour 
nals  a  re-indictment  of  bossism  with  the  Bassett- 
Thatcher  imbroglio  as  text.  It  was  disenchanting  to 

(351) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

find  one's  husband  enrolled  in  a  list  of  political 
reprobates  whose  activities  in  so  many  states  were  a 
menace  to  public  safety.  Her  father  had  served  with 
distinction  and  honor  this  same  commonwealth  that 
her  husband  was  debasing;  he  had  been  a  statesman, 
not  a  politician,  not  a  boss.  Blackford  Singleton  had 
belonged  to  the  coterie  that  included  such  men  as 
Hoar  and  Evarts,  Thurman  and  Bayard;  neither 
her  imagination  nor  her  affection  could  bridge  the 
chasm  that  separated  men  of  their  type  from  her 
husband,  who,  in  middle  life,  was  content  with  a 
seat  in  the  state  legislature  and  busied  himself  with 
wars  upon  petty  rivals.  Such  reflections  as  these  did 
not  contribute  to  her  peace  of  mind. 

She  was  alone  in  her  room  at  Mrs.  Owen's  when 
Bassett  appeared,  late  in  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Owen 
was  downtown  on  business  matters;  Marian,  after 
exhausting  all  her  devices  for  making  her  mother 
comfortable,  had  flown  in  search  of  acquaintances; 
and  Sylvia  had  that  day  taken  up  her  work  in  the 
normal  school.  Left  to  herself  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  warm  afternoon,  Mrs.  Bassett  had  indulged 
luxuriously  in  forebodings.  She  had  not  expected 
her  husband,  and  his  unannounced  entrance  startled 
her. 

"Well,"  she  remarked  drearily,  "so  you  have 
come  back  to  face  it,  have  you?" 

"I'm  undoubtedly  back,  Hallie,"  he  answered, 
with  an  effort  at  lightness,  crossing  to  the  bedside 
and  taking  her  hand. 

He  had  rarely  discussed  his  political  plans  with 
her,  but  he  realized  that  the  rupture  with  Thatcher 

(352) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO  KEYS 

must  naturally  have  distressed  her;  and  there  was 
also  Thatcher's  lawsuit  involving  her  aunt,  which  had 
disagreeable  possibilities. 

11 1  'm  sorry  your  name  got  into  the  papers,  Hallie. 
I  did  n't  want  you  to  go  to  the  convention,  but  of 
course  I  knew  you  went  to  please  Marian.  Where  is 
Marian?" 

"Oh,  she's  off  somewhere.  I  could  n't  expect  her 
to  stay  here  in  this  hot  room  all  day." 

The  room  was  not  uncomfortable;  but  it  seemed 
wiser  not  to  debate  questions  of  temperature.  He 
found  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"You  mustn't  worry  about  the  newspapers, 
Hallie;  they  always  make  the  worst  of  everything. 
The  temptation  to  distort  facts  to  make  a  good  story 
is  strong;  I  have  seen  it  in  my  connection  with  the 
'Courier.'  It's  lamentable,  but  you  can't  correct 
it  in  a  day.  I  'm  pretty  well  hardened  to  it  myself, 
but  I'm  sorry  you  have  let  these  attacks  on  me  an 
noy  you.  The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  ignore  them. 
What's  that  you  have  there?" 

She  still  clasped  the  envelope  of  clippings  and 
thrust  it  at  him  accusingly.  The  calmness  of  his  in 
spection  irritated  her  and  she  broke  out  sharply:  — 

"  I  should  n't  think  a  man  with  a  wife  and  family 
would  lay  himself  open  to  such  attacks  in  all  the 
newspapers  in  the  country.  Those  papers  call  you 
another  such  political  boss  as  Quay  and  Gorman. 
There's  nothing  they  don't  say  about  you." 

"Well,  Hallie,  they've  been  saying  it  for  some 
time;  they  will  go  on  saying  it  probably  not  only 
about  me  but  about  every  other  man  who  won't  be 

(353) 


A   HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

dictated  to  by  impractical  reformers  and  pharisaical 
newspapers.  But  I  must  confess  that  this  is  rather 
hard  luck!"  He  held  up  two  of  the  cuttings.  "I've 
undertaken  to  do  just  what  papers  like  the  New 
York 'Evening  Post'  and  the  Springfield  'Repub 
lican'  are  forever  begging  somebody  with  courage 
to  do  —  I  've  been  trying  to  drive  a  rascal  out  of 
politics.  I  'm  glad  of  this  chance  to  talk  to  you  about 
Thatcher.  He  and  I  were  friends  for  years,  as  you 
know." 

"I  never  understood  how  you  could  tolerate  that 
man;  he's  so  coarse  and  vulgar  that  his  wife  stays 
abroad  to  keep  her  daughters  away  from  him." 

"Well,  that's  not  my  affair.  I  have  had  all  I  want 
of  him.  There 's  nothing  mysterious  about  my  break 
ing  with  him;  he  got  it  into  his  head  that  he's  a  big 
ger  man  in  this  state  than  I  am.  I  have  known  for 
several  years  that  he  intended  to  get  rid  of  me  as 
soon  as  he  felt  he  could  do  it  safely,  and  be  ready  to 
capture  the  senatorship  when  he  saw  that  our  party 
was  in  shape  to  win  again.  I  've  always  distrusted 
him,  and  I  've  always  kept  an  eye  on  him.  When  he 
came  into  Fraser  County  and  stooped  low  enough  to 
buy  old  Ike  Pettit,  I  thought  it  time  to  strike.  You 
read  a  lot  about  courage  in  politics  in  such  news 
papers  as  these  that  have  been  philosophizing  about 
me  at  long  range.  Well,  I  'm  not  going  to  brag  about 
myself,  but  it  required  some  courage  on  my  part  to 
take  the  initiative  and  read  the  riot  act  to  Thatcher. 
I've  done  what  men  are  .sometimes  praised  for 
doing;  but  I  don't  want  praise;  I  only  want  to  be 
judged  fairly.  I've  always  avoided  bringing  busi- 

(354) 


INTERVIEWS   IN  TWO   KEYS 

ness  or  politics  home;  I've  always  had  an  idea  that 
when  a  man  goes  home  he  ought  to  close  the  door 
on  everything  but  the  interests  the  home  has  for 
him.  I  may  have  been  wrong  about  that;  and  I'm 
very  sorry  that  you  have  been  troubled  —  sincerely 
sorry.  But  you  may  as  well  know  the  truth  now, 
which  is  that  Thatcher  is  out  of  it  altogether.  You 
know  enough  of  him  to  understand  that  he's  not  a 
man  to  trust  with  power,  and  I  've  done  the  state  and 
my  party  a  service  in  turning  him  out  of  doors." 

He  had  spoken  quietly  and  earnestly,  and  his 
words  had  not  been  without  their  effect.  He  had 
never  been  harsh  with  her  or  the  children;  his  man 
ner  to-day  was  kind  and  considerate.  He  had  to  an 
extent  measurably  rehabilitated  himself  as  a  heroic 
public  character,  a  man  of  honor  and  a  husband  to 
be  proud  of;  but  she  had  not  spent  a  sleepless  night 
and  a  gray  day  without  fortifying  herself  against 
him.  All  day  her  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  an  aban 
doned  squirrel  box  in  the  crotch  of  an  elm  outside 
her  window;  it  had  become  the  repository  of  her 
thoughts,  the  habitation  of  her  sorrows.  She  turned 
her  head  slightly  so  that  her  eyes  might  rest  upon 
this  tabernacle  of  fear  and  illusion,  and  renewed  the 
assault  refreshed. 

"How  is  it,  then,  that  newspapers  away  off  in 
New  York  and  Massachusetts  speak  of  you  in  this 
outrageous  fashion?  They're  so  far  away  that  it 
seems  strange  they  speak  of  you  at  all." 

He  laughed  with  relief,  feeling  that  the  question 
marked  a  retreat  toward  weaker  fortifications. 

"You  're  not  very  complimentary,  are  you,  Hallie? 

(355) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

They  must  think  me  of  some  importance  or  they'd 
let  me  alone.  I  would  n't  subscribe  to  that  clipping 
bureau  if  you  fear  we're  too  much  in  the  limelight. 
I  've  been  taking  the  service  of  one  of  these  bureaus 
for  several  years,  and  I  read  every  line  the  papers 
print  about  me.  It's  part  of  the  regular  routine  in 
my  office  to  paste  them  in  scrapbooks." 

"I  shouldn't  think  you  could  burn  them  fast 
enough;  what  if  the  children  should  see  them  some 
day!" 

"Well,  you  may  be  surprised  to  know  that  they're 
not  all  so  bitter.  Once  in  a  long  while  I  get  a  kind 
word.  That  bill  I  got  through  the  assembly  sepa 
rating  hardened  criminals  from  those  susceptible 
of  reform  —  the  indeterminate  sentence  law  —  was 
praised  by  penologists  all  over  the  country.  It's  all 
in  the  day's  work;  sometimes  you're  patted  on  the 
back  and  the  next  time  they  kick  you  down  stairs. 
Without  political  influence  you  have  no  chance  to 
help  the  good  causes  or  defeat  the  bad  schemes." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  true,"  she  murmured 
weakly. 

He  had  successfully  met  and  turned  her  attack 
and  the  worst  had  passed;  but  he  expected  her  to 
make  some  reference  to  Thatcher's  lawsuit  for  the 
control  of  the  "Courier"  and  he  was  not  disap 
pointed.  Marian,  who  had  a  genius  for  collecting 
disagreeable  information  and  a  dramatic  instinct 
for  using  it  effectively,  had  apprised  her  of  it.  This 
hazarding  of  Mrs.  Owen's  favor  became  now  the 
gravamen  of  his  offense,  the  culmination  of  all  his 
offenses.  She  demanded  to  know  why  he  had  se- 

(356) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO  KEYS 

cretly  borrowed  money  of  her  aunt,  when  from  the 
time  of  their  marriage  it  had  been  understood  that 
they  should  never  do  so.  Her  own  fortune  he  had 
been  free  to  use  as  he  liked ;  she  demanded  to  know 
why  he  had  not  taken  her  own  money;  but  to  ask 
financial  favors  of  Aunt  Sally,  and  this,  too,  without 
consultation,  was  beyond  her  comprehension.  She 
was  on  secure  ground  here;  he  had  always  shared 
her  feeling  that  Mrs.  Owen  required  cautious  hand 
ling,  but  he  had  nevertheless  violated  their  compact. 
She  rushed  breathlessly  and  with  sobs  through  her 
recital. 

"And  you  haven't  seen  Aunt  Sally  since;  you 
have  made  no  effort  to  make  it  right  with  her!" 

"  As  to  that,  Hallie,  I  have  n't  had  a  chance  to  see 
her;  she's  only  been  home  two  days  and  I've  been 
away  myself  since.  Now  that  I'm  in  her  house  I 
shall  explain  it  all  to  her  before  I  leave." 

"But  you  have  n't  explained  to  me  why  you  did 
it!  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  a  right  to  know  how 
you  came  to  do  such  a  thing." 

"Well,  then,  the  fact  is  that  newspapers  these 
days  are  not  cheap  and  the  '  Courier '  cost  a  lot  of 
money.  I  've  been  pretty  well  tied  up  in  telephone 
and  other  investments  of  late;  and  I  have  never 
taken  advantage  of  my  ownership  of  the  Bassett 
Bank  to  use  its  money  except  within  my  reasonable 
credit  as  it  would  be  estimated  by  any  one  else.  Your 
own  funds  I  have  kept  invested  conservatively  in 
gilt-edged  securities  wholly  removed  from  specu 
lative  influences.  I  knew  that  if  I  did  n't  get  the 
newspaper  Thatcher  would,  so  I  made  every  pos- 

(357) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

sible  turn  to  go  in  with  him.  I  was  fifty  thousand 
dollars  shy  of  what  I  needed  to  pay  for  my  half,  and 
after  I  had  raked  up  all  the  money  I  could  safely, 
I  asked  Aunt  Sally  if  she  would  lend  me  that  sum 
with  all  my  stock  as  security." 

"Fifty  thousand  dollars,  Morton!  You  borrowed 
that  much  money  of  her!" 

Her  satisfaction  in  learning  that  Mrs.  Owen  com 
manded  so  large  a  sum  was  crushed  beneath  his 
stupendous  error  in  having  gone  to  her  for  money 
at  all. 

"Oh,  she  did  n't  lend  it  to  me,  after  all,  Hallie; 
she  refused  to  do  so;  but  she  allowed  me  to  buy 
enough  shares  for  her  to  make  up  my  quota.  Thatcher 
and  I  bought  at  eighty  cents  on  the  dollar  and  she 
paid  the  same.  She  has  her  shares  and  it's  a  good 
investment,  and  she  knows  it.  If  she  had  n't  in 
sisted  on  having  the  shares  in  her  own  name,  Thatcher 
would  never  have  known  it." 

He  turned  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  she  was 
keenly  alert  at  this  sign  of  discomfiture,  and  not 
above  taking  advantage  of  it. 

"So  without  her  you  are  at  Thatcher's  mercy,  are 
you?  I  have  n't  spoken  to  her  about  this  and  she 
hasn't  said  anything  to  me;  but  Marian  with  her 
usual  heedlessness  mentioned  it,  and  it  was  clear 
that  Aunt  Sally  was  very  angry." 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  Bassett  anxiously. 

"She  did  n't  say  anything,  but  she  shut  her  jaw 
tight  and  changed  the  subject.  It  was  what  she 
didn't  say!  You'd  better  think  well  before  you 
broach  the  subject  to  her." 

(358) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO  KEYS 

"  I  Ve  been  thinking  about  it.  If  I  take  her  stock 
at  par  she  ought  to  be  satisfied.  I  '11  pay  more  if  it's 
necessary.  And  of  course  I  '11  make  every  effort  to 
restore  good  feeling.  I  think  I  understand  her.  I  '11 
take  care  of  this,  but  you  must  stay  out  of  it,  and  tell 
Marian  to  keep  quiet." 

"Well,  Aunt  Sally  and  Thatcher  are  friends.  He 
rather  amuses  her,  with  his  horse-racing,  and  drink 
ing  and  gambling.  That  kind  of  thing  does  n't  seem 
so  bad  to  her.  She's  so  used  to  dealing  with  men 
that  she  makes  allowances  for  them." 

"Then,"  he  said  quickly,  with  a  smile,  eager  to 
escape  through  any  loophole,  "maybe  she  will  make 
some  allowances  for  me!  For  the  purpose  of  allay 
ing  her  anger  we'll  assume  that  I'm  as  wicked  as 
Thatcher." 

"Well,"  she  answered,  gathering  her  strength  for 
a  final  assault,  "it  doesn't  look  as  simple  as  that 
to  me.  Your  first  mistake  was  in  getting  her  into 
any  of  your  businesses  and  the  second  was  in  making 
it  possible  for  Thatcher  to  annoy  her  by  all  this 
ugly  publicity  of  a  lawsuit.  And  what  do  you  think 
has  happened  on  top  of  all  this  —  that  girl  is  here  — 
here  under  this  very  roof!" 

"That  girl  — what  girl?" 

His  opacity  incensed  her;  she  had  been  brooding 
over  her  aunt's  renewed  interest  in  Sylvia  Garrison 
all  day  and  his  dull  ignorance  was  the  last  straw  upon 
nerves  screwed  to  the  breaking-point.  She  sat  up 
in  bed  and  drew  her  dressing-gown  about  her  as 
though  it  were  the  vesture  of  despair. 

"That  Garrison  girl!    She's  not  only  back  here, 

(359) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

but  from  all  appearances  she's  going  to  stay!  Aunt 
Sally's  infatuated  with  her.  When  the  girl's  grand 
father  died,  Aunt  Sally  did  everything  for  her  —  went 
over  to  Montgomery  to  take  charge  of  the  funeral, 
and  then  went  back  to  Wellesley  to  see  the  girl 
graduate.  And  now  she's  giving  up  her  plan  of  go 
ing  to  Waupegan  for  the  summer  to  stay  here  in  all 
the  heat  with  a  girl  who  has  n't  the  slightest  claim 
on  her.  When  the  Keltons  visited  Waupegan  four 
years  ago  I  saw  this  coming.  I  wanted  Marian  to  go 
to  college  and  tried  to  get  you  interested  in  the  plan 
because  that  was  what  first  caught  Aunt  Sally's 
fancy  —  Sylvia's  cleverness,  and  this  college  idea. 
But  you  would  n't  do  anything  about  Marian,  and 
now  she's  thrown  away  her  chances,  and  here's  this 
stranger  graduating  with  honors  and  Aunt  Sally 
going  down  there  to  see  it!  Aunt  Sally's  going  to 
make  a  companion  of  her,  and  you  can't  tell  what 
will  happen!  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  can  say  to 
your  children  when  all  Aunt  Sally's  money,  that 
should  rightly  go  to  them,  goes  to  a  girl  she's  picked 
up  out  of  nowhere.  This  is  what  your  politics  has 
got  us  into,  Morton  Bassett!" 

The  soberness  to  which  this  brought  him  at  last 
satisfied  her.  She  had  freely  expressed  the  anxiety 
caused  by  Sylvia's  first  appearance  on  the  domestic 
horizon,  but  for  a  year  or  two,  in  his  wife's  absences 
in  pursuit  of  health,  he  had  heard  little  of  her  appre 
hensions.  Marian's  own  disinclination  for  a  college 
career  had,  from  the  beginning,  seemed  to  him  to  in 
terpose  an  insurmountable  barrier  to  parental  guid 
ance  in  that  direction.  His  wife's  attitude  in  these 

(360) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO  KEYS 

new  circumstances  of  the  return  of  her  aunt's  protegee 
struck  him  as  wholly  unjustified  and  unreasonable. 

"You're  not  quite  yourself  when  you  talk  that 
way,  Hallie.  Professor  Kelton  was  one  of  Aunt 
Sally's  oldest  friends;  old  people  have  a  habit  of 
going  back  to  the  friends  of  their  youth;  there's 
nothing  strange  in  it.  And  this  being  true,  nothing 
could  have  been  more  natural  than  for  Aunt  Sally 
to  help  the  girl  in  her  trouble,  even  to  the  extent 
of  seeing  her  graduated.  It  was  just  like  Aunt 
Sally,"  he  continued,  warming  to  his  subject,  "who's 
one  of  the  stanchest  friends  anybody  could  have. 
Aunt  Sally's  devoted  to  you  and  your  children;  it's 
ungenerous  to  her  to  assume  that  a  young  woman 
she  hardly  knows  is  supplanting  you  or  Marian. 
This  newspaper  notoriety  I  'm  getting  has  troubled 
you  and  I'm  sorry  for  it;  but  I  can't  let  you  enter 
tain  this  delusion  that  your  aunt's  kindness  to  the 
granddaughter  of  one  of  her  old  friends  means  that 
Aunt  Sally  has  ceased  to  care  for  you,  or  lost  her 
regard  for  Marian  and  Blackford.  If  you  think  of 
it  seriously  for  a  moment  you  '11  see  how  foolish  it 
is  to  harbor  any  jealousy  of  Miss  Garrison.  Come! 
Cheer  up  and  forget  it.  If  Aunt  Sally  got  an  inkling 
of  this  you  may  be  sure  that  would  displease  her. 
You  say  the  girl  is  here  in  the  house?" 

"She's  not  only  here,  but  she's  here  to  stay! 
She's  going  to  intrench  herself  here!" 

She  sent  him  to  the  chiffonier  to  find  a  fresh  hand 
kerchief.  He  watched  her  helplessly  for  a  moment 
as  she  dried  her  eyes.  Then  he  took  her  hands  and 
bent  over  her. 

(360 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"  Won't  you  try  to  see  things  a  little  brighter? 
It's  all  just  because  you  got  too  tired  yesterday. 
You  ought  n't  to  have  gone  to  the  convention;  and 
I  did  n't  know  you  were  going  or  I  should  have 
forbidden  it." 

"  Well,  Marian  wanted  to  go;  and  we  were  coming 
to  town  anyhow.  And  besides,  Aunt  Sally  had  taken 
it  into  her  head  to  go,  too.  She  wranted  this  Garri 
son  girl  to  see  a  political  convention;  I  suppose  that 
was  the  real  reason." 

He  laughed,  gazing  down  into  her  tearful  face,  in 
which  resentment  lingered  waveringly,  as  in  the  faces 
of  children  persuaded  against  their  will  and  parting 
reluctantly  with  the  solace  of  tears. 

"You  must  £et  up  for  dinner,  Hallie.  Your  doc 
tors  have  always  insisted  that  you  needed  variety 
and  change;  and  to-morrow  we'll  take  you  up  to  the 
lake  out  of  this  heat.  We  have  a  good  deal  to  be 
grateful  for,  after  all,  Hallie.  You  have  n't  any  right 
to  feel  disappointed  in  Marian:  she's  the  nicest  girl 
in  the  state,  and  the  prettiest  girl  you'll  find  any 
where.  We  ought  to  be  glad  she 's  so  high-spirited 
and  handsome  and  clever.  College  never  was  for  her; 
she  certainly  was  never  for  college!  I  talked  that 
over  with  Miss  Waring  a  number  of  times.  And 
I  don't  believe  Aunt  Sally  thinks  less  of  Marian 
because  she  is  n't  a  better  scholar.  Only  a  small 
per  cent  of  women  go  to  college,  and  I  'm  not  sure 
it's  a  good  thing.  I'm  even  a  little  doubtful  about 
sending  Blackford  to  college;  this  education  busi 
ness  is  overdone,  and  the  sooner  a  boy  gets  into 
harness  the  better." 

(362) 


INTERVIEWS   IN  TWO   KEYS 

Her  deep  sigh  implied  that  he  might  do  as  he  liked 
with  his  son,  now  that  she  had  so  completely  failed 
with  her  daughter. 

"Aunt  Sally  is  very  much  interested  in  Mr. 
Harwood.  She  has  put  Sylvia's  affairs  in  his  hands. 
Could  it  be  possible  — " 

He  groped  for  her  unexpressed  meaning,  and  see 
ing  that  he  had  not  grasped  it  she  clarified  it  to 
his  masculine  intelligence. 

11  If  there  are  two  persons  she  is  interested  in,  and 
they  understand  each  other,  it's  all  so  much  more 
formidable."  And  then,  seeing  that  this  also  was  too 
subtle,  she  put  it  flatly:  "What  if  Harwood  should 
marry  Sylvia!" 

"Well,  that  is  borrowing  trouble!"  he  cried  im 
patiently.  "Aunt  Sally  is  interested  in  a  great  many 
young  people.  She  is  very  fond  of  Allen  Thatcher. 
And  Allen  seems  to  find  Marian's  society  agreeable, 
more  so,  I  fancy,  than  Harwood  does;  —  why  not 
speculate  along  that  line?  It's  as  plausible  as  the 
other." 

"Oh,  that  boy!  That's  something  we  must  guard 
against,  Morton;  that  is  quite  impossible." 

"I  dare  say  it  is,"  he  replied.  "But  not  more 
unlikely  than  that  Harwood  will  marry  this  Sylvia 
who  worries  you  so  unnecessarily." 

"Marian  is  going  to  marry  somebody,  some  day, 
and  that 's  on  my  mind  a  great  deal.  You  have  got  to 
give  more  thought  to  family  matters.  It's  right  for 
Marian  to  marry,  and  I  think  a  girl  of  her  tastes 
should  settle  early,  but  we  must  guard  her  from  mis 
takes.  I  've  had  that  on  my  conscience  several  years." 

(363) 


A   HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Of  course,  Hallie;  and  I've  not  been  unmindful 
of  it." 

"And  if  Aunt  Sally  is  interested  in  young  Har- 
wood  and  you  think  well  of  him  yourself  —  but  of 
course  I  don't  favor  him  for  Marian.  I  should  like 
Marian  to  marry  into  a  family  of  some  standing." 

"Well,  we'll  see  to  it  that  she  does;  we  want  our 
daughter  to  be  happy  —  we  must  do  the  best  we  can 
for  our  children,"  he  concluded  largely. 

She  promised  to  appear  at  the  dinner  table,  and  he 
went  down  with  some  idea  of  seeing  Mrs.  Owen  at 
once,  to  assure  her  of  his  honorable  intentions  toward 
her  in  the  "Courier"  matter;  he  wanted  to  relieve 
his  own  fears  as  well  as  his  wife's  as  to  the  mischief 
that  had  been  wrought  by  Thatcher's  suit. 

In  the  hall  below  he  met  Sylvia,  just  back  from 
her  first  day  at  the  normal  school.  The  maid  had 
admitted  her,  and  she  was  slipping  her  parasol  into 
the  rack  as  he  came  downstairs.  She  heard  his  step 
and  turned  toward  him,  a  slender,  dark  young 
woman  in  black.  In  the  dim  hall  she  did  not  at  once 
recognize  him,  and  he  spoke  first. 

"Good-afternoon,  Miss  Garrison!  I  am  Mr. 
Bassett;  I  believe  I  introduced  myself  to  you  at 
Waupegan  —  and  that  seems  a  long  time  ago." 

"I  remember  very  well,  Mr.  Bassett,"  Sylvia 
replied,  and  they  shook  hands.  "You  found  me  in 
my  dream  corner  by  the  lake  and  walked  to  Mrs. 
Owen's  with  me.  I  remember  our  meeting  per 
fectly." 

He  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  newel  regarding  her 
intently.  She  was  entirely  at  ease,  a  young  woman 

(364) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO   KEYS 

without  awkwardness  or  embarrassment.  She  had 
disposed  of  their  previous  meeting  lightly,  as  though 
such  fortuitous  incidents  had  not  been  lacking  in  her 
life.  Her  mourning  hat  cast  a  shadow  upon  her  face, 
but  he  had  been  conscious  of  the  friendliness  of  her 
smile.  Her  dark  eyes  had  inspected  him  swiftly  ;  he 
was  vaguely  aware  of  a  feeling  that  he  wanted  to 
impress  her  favorably. 

"The  maid  said  Mrs.  Owen  and  Marian  are  still 
out.  I  hope  Mrs.  Bassett  is  better.  I  wonder  if  I  can 
do  anything  for  her." 

"  No,  thank  you;  she's  quite  comfortable  and  will 
be  down  for  dinner." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that;  suppose  we  find  seats 
here." 

She  walked  before  him  into  the  parlor  and  threw 
back  the  curtains  the  better  to  admit  the  air.  He 
watched  her  attentively,  noting  the  ease  and  grace 
of  her  movements,  and  took  the  chair  she  indi 
cated. 

"It's  very  nice  to  see  Mrs.  Bassett  and  Marian 
again;  they  were  so  good  to  me  that  summer  at 
Waupegan ;  I  have  carried  the  pleasantest  memories 
of  that  visit  ever  since.  It  seems  a  long  time  ago  and 
it  is  nearly  four  years,  is  n't  it." 

"Four  this  summer,  I  think.  I  remember,  because 
I  had  been  to  Colorado,  and  that  whole  year  was 
pretty  full  for  me.  But  all  these  years  have  been 
busy  ones  for  you,  too,  I  hear.  Your  grandfather's 
death  must  have  been  a  great  shock  to  you.  I  knew 
him  only  by  reputation,  but  it  was  a  reputation  to 
be  proud  of." 

(365) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Yes;  Grandfather  Kelton  had  been  everything 
to  me." 

"  It  was  too  bad  he  could  n't  have  lived  to  see  you 
through  college;  he  must  have  taken  a  great  interest 
in  your  work  there,  through  his  own  training  and 
scholarship." 

"It  was  what  he  wanted  me  to  do,  and  I  wish  he 
could  have  known  how  I  value  it.  He  was  the  best  of 
men,  the  kindest  and  noblest;  and  he  was  a  wonder 
ful  scholar.  He  had  the  habit  of  thoroughness." 

'That,  I  suppose,  was  partly  due  to  the  discipline 
of  the  Navy.  I  fancy  that  a  man  trained  in  habits  of 
exactness  gets  into  the  way  of  keeping  his  mind  ship 
shape  —  no  loose  ends  around  anywhere." 

She  smiled  at  this,  and  regarded  him  with  rather 
more  attention,  as  though  his  remark  had  given  her 
a  new  impression  of  him  which  her  eyes  wished  to 
verify. 

"They  tell  me  you  expect  to  teach  in  the  city 
schools;  that  has  always  seemed  to  me  the  hardest 
kind  of  work.  I  should  think  you  would  prefer  a 
college  position; -- there  would  be  less  drudgery, 
and  better  social  opportunities." 

" Every  one  warns  me  that  it's  hard  work,  but  I 
don't  believe  it  can  be  so  terrible.  Somebody  has  to 
do  it.  Of  course  college  positions  are  more  dignified 
and  likely  to  be  better  paid." 

He  started  to  speak  and  hesitated. 

"Well,"  she  laughed.  "You  were  going  to  add 
your  warning,  were  n't  you !  I  'm  used  to  them." 

"No;  nothing  of  the  sort;  I  was  going  to  take  the 
liberty  of  saying  that  if  you  cared  to  have  me  I 

(366) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO  KEYS 

should  be  glad  to  see  whether  our  state  university 
might  not  have  something  for  you.  I  have  friends 
and  acquaintances  who  could  help  there." 

"  Oh,  you  are  very  kind !  It  is  very  good  of  you  to 
offer  to  do  that;  but—" 

A  slight  embarrassment  was  manifest  in  the  quick 
opening  and  closing  of  her  eyes,  a  slight  turning  of 
the  head,  but  she  smiled  pleasantly,  happily.  He 
liked  her  way  of  smiling,  and  smiled  himself.  He 
found  it  agreeable  to  be  talking  to  this  young  woman 
with  the  fine,  candid  eyes,  whose  manner  was  so  as 
sured  —  without  assurance !  She  smoothed  the  black 
gloves  in  her  lap  quietly;  they  were  capable  hands; 
her  whole  appearance  and  manner  somehow  betok 
ened  competence. 

"The  fact  is,  Mr.  Bassett,  that  I  have  declined  one 
or  two  college  positions.  My  own  college  offered  to 
take  me  in;  and  I  believe  there  were  one  or  two 
other  chances.  But  it  is  kind  of  you  to  offer  to  help 


me." 


She  had  minimized  the  importance  of  the  offers 
she  had  declined  so  that  he  might  not  feel  the  mea- 
greness  of  his  proffered  help ;  and  he  liked  her  way  of 
doing  it;  but  it  was  incredible  that  a  young  woman 
should  decline  an  advantageous  and  promising  posi 
tion  to  accept  a  minor  one.  In  the  world  he  knew 
there  were  many  hands  on  all  the  rounds  of  all  the 
available  ladders. 

"Of  course,"  he  hastened  to  say,  "I  knew  you 
were  efficient;  that's  why  I  thought  the  public 
schools  were  not  quite  —  not  quite  —  worthy  of 
your  talents!" 

(36?) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Some  explanation  seemed  necessary,  and  Sylvia 
hesitated  for  a  moment. 

"Do  I  really  have  to  be  serious,  Mr.  Bassett?  So 
many  people  —  the  girls  at  college  and  some  of  my 
instructors  and  Mrs.  Owen  even  —  have  assured  me 
that  I  am  not  quite  right  in  my  mind;  but  I  will 
make  short  work  of  my  reasons.  Please  believe  that 
I  really  don't  mean  to  take  myself  too  seriously.  I 
want  to  teach  in  the  public  schools  merely  to  con 
tinue  my  education;  there  are  things  to  learn  there 
that  I  want  to  know.  So,  you  see,  after  all,  it's 
neither  important  nor  interesting;  it's  only — only 
my  woman's  insatiable  curiosity!  " 

He  smiled,  but  he  frowned  too;  it  annoyed  him  not 
to  comprehend  her.  School-teaching  could  only  be  a 
matter  of  necessity;  her  plea  of  curiosity  must  cover 
something  deeper  that  she  withheld. 

"I  know,"  she  continued,  "if  I  may  say  it,  ever 
so  much  from  books;  but  I  have  only  the  faintest 
notions  of  life.  Now,  is  n't  that  terribly  muggy? 
People  —  and  their  conditions  and  circumstances  — 
can  only  be  learned  by  going  to  the  original  sources." 

This  was  not  illuminative.  She  had  only  added  to 
his  befuddlement  and  he  bent  forward,  soliciting 
some  more  lucid  statement  of  her  position. 

"I  had  hoped  to  go  ahead  and  never  have  to  ex 
plain,  for  I  fear  that  in  explaining  I  seem  to  be  ap 
praising  myself  too  high;  but  you  won't  believe  that 
of  me,  will  you?  If  I  took  one  of  these  college  posi 
tions  and  proved  efficient,  and  had  good  luck,  I 
should  keep  on  knowing  all  the  rest  of  my  life  about 
the  same  sort  of  people,  for  the  girls  who  go  to  college 

(368) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO  KEYS 

are  from  the  more  fortunate  classes.  There  are  ex 
ceptions,  but  they  are  drawn  largely  from  homes 
that  have  some  cultivation,  some  sort  of  background. 
The  experiences  of  teachers  in  such  institutions  are 
likely  to  cramp.  It's  all  right  later  on,  but  at  first, 
it  seems  to  me  better  to  experiment  in  the  wider 
circle.  Now —  "  and  she  broke  off  with  a  light 
laugh,  eager  that  he  should  understand. 

"  It's  not,  then,  your  own  advantage  you  consult; 
the  self-denial  appeals  to  you;  it's  rather  like  —  like 
a  nun's  vocation.  You  think  the  service  is  higher!" 

"Oh,  it  would  be  if  I  could  render  service!  Please 
don't  think  I  feel  that  the  world  is  waiting  for  me  to 
set  it  right;  I  don't  believe  it's  so  wrong!  All  I  mean 
to  say  is  that  I  don't  understand  a  lot  of  things,  and 
that  the  knowledge  I  lack  is  n't  something  we  can 
dig  out  of  a  library,  but  that  we  must  go  to  life  for  it. 
There's  a  good  deal  to  learn  in  a  city  like  this  that's 
still  in  the  making.  I  might  have  gone  to  New  York, 
but  there  are  too  many  elements  there;  it's  all  too 
big  for  me.  Here  you  can  see  nearly  as  many  kinds 
of  people,  and  you  can  get  closer  to  them.  You  can 
see  how  they  earn  their  living,  and  you  can  even 
follow  them  to  church  on  Sunday  and  see  what  they 
get  out  of  that!" 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  replied,  after  deliberating  a 
moment,  "that  you  are  going  to  make  yourself 
uncomfortable;  you  are  cutting  out  a  programme 
of  unhappiness." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  make  myself  uncomfortable 
for  a  little  while?  I  have  never  known  anything  but 
comfort." 

(369) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"But  that's  your  blessing;  no  matter  how  much 
you  want  to  do  it  you  can't  remove  all  the  unhappi- 
ness  in  the  world  —  not  even  by  dividing  with  the 
less  fortunate.  I  Ve  never  been  able  to  follow  that 
philosophy." 

"Maybe,"  she  said,  "you  have  never  tried  it!" 
She  was  seeking  neither  to  convince  him  nor  to  ac 
complish  his  discomfiture  and  to  this  end  was  main 
taining  her  share  of  the  dialogue  to  the  accompani 
ment  of  a  smile  of  amity. 

"  Maybe  I  never  have,"  he  replied  slowly.  "  I  did 
n't  have  your  advantage  of  seeing  a  place  to  begin." 

"But  you  have  the  advantage  of  every  one;  you 
have  the  thing  that  I  can  never  hope  to  have,  that 
I  don't  ask  for:  you  have  the  power  in  your  hands  to 
do  everything!" 

His  quick,  direct  glance  expressed  curiosity  as  to 
whether  she  were  appealing  to  his  vanity  or  implying 
a  sincere  belief  in  his  power. 

"Power  is  too  large  a  word  to  apply  to  me,  Miss 
Garrison.  I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  experience  in 
politics,  and  in  politics  you  can't  do  all  you  like." 

"I  did  n't  question  that:  men  of  the  finest  inten 
tions  seem  to  fail,  and  they  will  probably  go  on  fail 
ing.  I  know  that  from  books ;  you  know  it  of  course 
from  actual  dealings  with  the  men  who  find  their 
way  to  responsible  places,  and  who  very  often  fail 
to  accomplish  the  things  we  expect  of  them." 

"The  aims  of  most  of  the  reformers  are  futile  from 
the  beginning.  Legislatures  can  pass  laws ;  they  pass 
far  too  many;  but  they  can't  make  ideal  conditions 
out  of  those  laws.  I  Ve  seen  it  tried." 

(370) 


INTERVIEWS   IN  TWO   KEYS 

"  Yesterday,  when  you  were  able  to  make  that 
convention  do  exactly  what  you  wanted  it  to,  with 
out  even  being  there  to  watch  it,  it  must  have  been 
because  of  some  ideal  you  were  working  for.  You 
thought  you  were  serving  some  good  purpose;  it 
wasn't  just  spite  or  to  show  your  power.  It  could 
n't  have  been  that!" 

"  I  did  it,"  he  said  doggedly,  as  though  to  destroy 
with  a  single  blunt  thrust  her  tower  of  illusions  — 
"I  did  it  to  smash  a  man  named  Thatcher.  There 
was  n't  any  ideal  nonsense  about  it." 

He  frowned,  surprised  and  displeased  that  he  had 
spoken  so  roughly.  He  rarely  let  go  of  himself  in  that 
fashion.  He  expected  her  to  take  advantage  of  his 
admission  to  point  a  moral ;  but  she  said  instantly:  — 

"Then,  you  did  it  beautifully!  There  was  a  cer 
tain  perfection  about  it;  it  was,  oh,  immensely 
funny!" 

She  laughed,  tossing  her  head  lightly,  a  laugh  of 
real  enjoyment,  and  he  was  surprised  to  find  him 
self  laughing  with  her.  It  seemed  that  the  Thatcher 
incident  was  not  only  funny,  but  that  its  full  humor 
ous  value  had  not  until  that  moment  been  wholly 
realized  by  either  of  them. 

She  rose  quickly.  One  of  her  gloves  fell  to  the 
floor  and  he  picked  it  up.  The  act  of  restoring  it 
brought  them  close  together,  and  their  talk  had,  he 
felt,  justified  another  searching  glance  into  her  face. 
She  nodded  her  thanks,  smiling  again,  and  moved 
toward  the  door.  He  admired  the  tact  which  had 
caused  her  to  close  the  discussion  at  precisely  the  safe 
moment.  He  was  a  master  of  the  art  of  closing  inter- 

(371) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

views,  and  she  had  placed  the  period  at  the  end  of 
the  right  sentence;  it  was  where  he  would  have 
placed  it  himself.  She  had  laughed !  —  and  the 
novelty  of  being  laughed  at  was  refreshing.  He  and 
Thatcher  had  laughed  in  secret  at  the  confusion  of 
their  common  enemies  in  old  times;  but  most  men 
feared  him,  and  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a 
mirthless  person.  He  had  rarely  discussed  politics 
with  women;  he  had  an  idea  that  a  woman's  poli 
tics,  when  she  had  any,  partook  of  the  nature  of  her 
religion,  and  that  it  was  something  quite  emotional, 
tending  toward  hysteria.  He  experienced  a  sense  of 
guilt  at  the  relief  he  found  in  Sylvia's  laughter,  re 
membering  that  scarcely  half  an  hour  earlier  he  had 
been  at  pains  to  justify  himself  before  his  wife  for 
the  very  act  which  had  struck  this  girl  as  funny.  He 
had  met  Mrs.  Bassett's  accusations  with  evasion 
and  dissimulation,  and  he  had  accomplished  an  es 
cape  that  was  not,  in  retrospect,  wholly  creditable. 
He  hated  scenes  and  tiresome  debates  as  he  hated 
people  who  cringed  and  sidled  before  him. 

His  manner  of  dealing  with  Thatcher  had  been 
born  of  a  diabolical  humor  which  he  rarely  exercised, 
but  which  afforded  him  a  delicious  satisfaction.  It 
was  the  sort  of  revenge  one  reserved  for  a  foe  capable 
of  appreciating  its  humor  and  malignity.  The  answer 
of  laughter  was  one  to  which  he  was  unused,  and  he 
was  amazed  to  find  that  it  had  effected  an  under 
standing  of  some  vague  and  intangible  kind  between 
him  and  Sylvia  Garrison.  She  might  not  approve  of 
him,  he  had  no  idea  that  she  did ;  but  she  had  struck 
a  chord  whose  vibrations  pleased  and  tantalized.  She, 

(372) 


INTERVIEWS  IN  TWO   KEYS 

was  provocative  and,  to  a  degree,  mystifying,  and 
the  abrupt  termination  of  their  talk  seemed  to  leave 
the  way  open  to  other  interviews.  He  thought  of 
many  things  he  might  have  said  to  her  at  the  mo 
ment;  but  her  period  was  not  to  be  changed  to 
comma  or  semicolon;  she  was  satisfied  with  the 
punctuation  and  had,  so  to  speak,  run  away  with 
the  pencil!  She  had  tossed  his  political  aims  and 
strifes  into  the  air  with  a  bewildering  dismissal, 
and  he  stood  like  a  child  whose  toy  balloon  has 
slipped  away,  half-pleased  at  its  flight,  half-mourn 
ing  its  loss. 

She  picked  up  some  books  she  had  left  on  a  stand 
in  the  hall.  He  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
watching  her  ascent,  hearing  the  swish  of  her  skirts 
on  the  stairs:  but  she  did  not  look  back.  She  was 
humming  softly  to  herself  as  she  passed  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   SHORT   HORSE   SOON   CURRIED 

SYLVIA  sat  beside  Bassett  at  dinner  that  night, 
and  it  was  on  the  whole  a  cheerful  party. 
Mrs.  Bassett  was  restored  to  tranquillity,  and 
before  her  aunt  she  always  strove  to  hide  her  ills, 
from  a  feeling  that  that  lady,  who  enjoyed  perfect 
health,  and  carried  on  the  most  prodigious  under 
takings,  had  little  patience  with  her  less  fortunate 
sisters  whom  the  doctors  never  fully  discharge. 
Mrs.  Owen  had  returned  so  late  that  Bassett  was 
unable  to  dispose  of  the  lawsuit  before  dinner;  she 
had  greeted  her  niece's  husband  with  her  usual  cor 
diality.  She  always  called  him  Morton,  and  she  was 
Aunt  Sally  to  him  as  to  many  hundreds  of  her  fel 
low  citizens.  She  discussed  crops,  markets,  rumors 
of  foreign  wars,  prospective  changes  in  the  Presi 
dent's  Cabinet,  the  price  of  ice,  and  the  automobile 
invasion.  Talk  at  Sally  Owen's  table  was  always 
likely  to  be  spirited.  Bassett's  anxiety  as  to  his 
relations  with  her  passed;  he  had  never  felt  more 
comfortable  in  her  house. 

Only  the  most  temerarious  ever  ventured  to  ask 
a  forecast  of  Mrs.  Owen's  plans.  Marian,  who  had 
found  a  school  friend  with  an  automobile  and  had 
enjoyed  a  run  into  the  country,  did  not  share  the 
common  fear  of  her  great-aunt.  Mrs.  Owen  liked 

(374) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

Marian's  straightforward  ways  even  when  they  ap 
proached  rashness.  It  had  occurred  to  her  sometimes 
that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  Singleton  in  Marian; 
she,  Sally  Owen,  was  a  Singleton  herself,  and  ad 
mired  the  traits  of  that  side  of  her  family.  Marian 
amused  her  now  by  plunging  into  a  description  of  a 
new  flat  she  had  passed  that  afternoon  which  would 
provide  admirably  a  winter  home  for  the  Bassetts. 
Mrs.  Bassett  shuddered,  expecting  her  aunt  to  sound 
a  warning  against  the  extravagance  of  maintaining 
two  homes;  but  Mrs.  Owen  rallied  promptly  to  her 
grandniece's  support. 

41  If  you  Ve  got  tired  of  my  house,  you  could  n't  do 
better  than  to  take  an  apartment  in  the  Verona.  I 
saw  the  plans  before  they  began  it,  and  it 's  first-class 
and  up-to-date.  My  house  is  open  to  you  and  al 
ways  has  been,  but  I  notice  you  go  to  the  hotel 
about  half  the  time.  You  'd  better  try  a  flat  for  a 
winter,  Hallie,  and  let  Marian  see  how  we  do  things 
in  town." 

Instantly  Mrs.  Bassett  was  alert.  This  could  only 
be  covert  notice  that  Sylvia  was  to  be  installed  in 
the  Delaware  Street  house.  Marian  was  engaging  her 
father  in  debate  upon  the  merits  of  her  plan,  forti 
fied  by  Mrs.  Owen's  unexpected  approval.  Mrs.  Bas 
sett  raised  her  eyes  to  Sylvia.  Sylvia,  in  one  of  the 
white  gowns  with  which  she  relieved  her  mourning, 
tranquilly  unconscious  of  the  dark  terror  she  awak 
ened  in  Mrs.  Bassett,  seemed  to  be  sympathetically 
interested  in  the  Bassetts'  transfer  to  the  capital. 

Sylvia  was  guilty  of  the  deplorable  sin  of  making 
herself  agreeable  to  every  one.  She  had  paused  on 

(375) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  way  to  her  room  before  dinner  to  proffer  assist 
ance  to  Mrs.  Bassett.  With  a  light,  soothing  touch 
she  had  brushed  the  invalid's  hair  and  dressed  it; 
and  she  had  produced  a  new  kind  of  salts  that  proved 
delightfully  refreshing.  Since  coming  to  the  table 
Mrs.  Bassett  had  several  times  detected  her  hus 
band  in  an  exchange  of  smiles  with  the  young  wo 
man,  and  Marian  and  the  usurper  got  on  famously. 
Mrs.  Bassett  had  observed  that  Sylvia's  appetite 
was  excellent,  and  this  had  weakened  her  belief  in 
the  girl's  genius;  there  was  a  good  deal  of  Early- 
Victorian  superstition  touching  women  in  Hallie 
Bassett!  But  Mrs.  Owen  was  speaking. 

"  I  suppose  I  'd  see  less  of  you  all  if  you  moved  to 
town.  Marian  used  to  run  off  from  Miss  Waring's 
to  cheer  me  up,  mostly  when  her  lessons  were  bad, 
was  n't  it,  Marian?" 

"  I  love  this  house,  Aunt  Sally,  but  you  can't  have 
us  all  on  your  hands  all  the  time." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Owen  remarked,  glancing  round 
the  table  quizzically,  "I  might  do  worse.  But  even 
Sylvia  scorns  me;  she's  going  to  move  out  to 


morrow." 


Mrs.  Bassett  with  difficulty  concealed  her  im 
measurable  relief.  Mrs.  Owen  left  explanations  to 
Sylvia,  who  promptly  supplied  them. 

"That  sounds  as  though  I  were  about  to  take  leave 
without  settling  my  bill,  does  n't  it?  But  I  thought 
it  wise  not  to  let  it  get  too  big;  I'm  going  to  move 
to  Elizabeth  House." 

"Elizabeth  House!   Why,  Sylvia!"  cried  Marian. 

Mrs.  Bassett  smothered  a   sigh   of   satisfaction. 

(376) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

If  Aunt  Sally  was  transferring  her  protegee  to  the 
home  she  had  established  for  working  girls  (and 
it  was  inconceivable  that  the  removal  could  be 
upon  Sylvia's  own  initiative),  the  Bassett  pros 
pects  brightened  at  once.  Aunt  Sally  was,  in  her 
way,  an  aristocrat;  she  was  rich  and  her  eccentrici 
ties  were  due  largely  to  her  kindness  of  heart;  but 
Mrs.  Bassett  was  satisfied  now  that  she  was  not 
a  woman  to  harbor  in  her  home  a  girl  who  labored 
in  a  public  school-house.  Not  only  did  Mrs.  Bas- 
sett's  confidence  in  her  aunt  rise,  but  she  felt  a 
thrill  of  admiration  for  Sylvia,  who  was  unmistak 
ably  a  girl  who  knew  her  place,  and  her  place  as  a 
wage-earner  was  not  in  the  home  of  one  of  the  richest 
women  in  the  state,  but  in  a  house  provided  through 
that  lady's  beneficence  for  the  shelter  of  young  wo 
men  occupied  in  earning  a  livelihood. 

"It's  very  nice  there,"  Sylvia  was  saying.  "I 
stopped  on  my  way  home  this  afternoon  and  found 
that  they  could  give  me  a  room.  It's  all  arranged." 

"But  it's  only  for  office  girls  and  department 
store  clerks  and  dressmakers,  Sylvia.  I  should  think 
you  would  hate  it.  Why,  my  manicure  lives  there!" 

Marian  desisted,  warned  by  her  mother,  who 
wished  no  jarring  note  to  mar  her  satisfaction  in  the 
situation, 

"That  manicure  girl  is  a  circus,"  said  Mrs.  Owen, 
quite  oblivious  of  the  undercurrent  of  her  niece's 
thoughts.  "When  they  had  a  vaudeville  show  last 
winter  she  did  the  best  stunts  of  any  of  'em.  You 
did  n't  mention  those  Jewesses  that  I  had  such  a  row 
to  get  in?  Smart  girls.  One  of  'em  is  the  fastest  type- 

(377) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

writer  in  town;  she's  a  credit  to  Jerusalem,  that  girl. 
And  a  born  banker.  They  Ve  started  a  savings  club 
and  Miriam  runs  it.  They  won't  lose  any  money." 
Mrs.  Owen  chuckled;  and  the  rest  laughed.  There 
was  no  question  of  Mrs.  Owen's  pride  in  Elizabeth 
House.  "Did  you  see  any  plumbers  around  the 
place?  "  she  demanded  of  Sylvia.  "  I  Ve  been  a  month 
trying  to  get  another  bathroom  put  in  on  the  third 
floor,  and  plumbers  do  try  the  soul." 

"That's  all  done,"  replied  Sylvia.  "The  matron 
told  me  to  tell  you  so." 

"I'm  about  due  to  go  over  there  and  look  over 
the  linen,"  remarked  Mrs.  Owen,  with  an  air  of  mak 
ing  a  memorandum  of  a  duty  neglected. 

"Well,  I  guess  it's  comfortable  enough,"  said 
Marian.  "But  I  should  think  you  could  do  better 
than  that,  Sylvia.  You'll  have  to  eat  at  the  same 
table  with  some  typewriter  pounder.  With  all  your 
education  I  should  think  it  would  bore  you." 

"Sylvia  will  have  to  learn  about  it  for  herself, 
Marian,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "I've  always  under 
stood  that  the  executive  board  is  very  careful  not 
to  admit  girls  whose  character  is  n't  above  re 
proach." 

Mrs.  Owen  turned  the  key  of  her  old-fashioned 
coffee  urn  sharply  upon  the  cup  she  was  filling  and 
looked  her  niece  in  the  eye. 

"Oh,  we're  careful,  Hallie;  we're  careful;  but  I 
tell  'em  not  to  be  too  careful!" 

"Well,  of  course  the  aim  is  to  protect  girls,"  Mrs. 
Bassett  replied,  conscious  of  a  disconcerting  acidity 
in  her  aunt's  remark. 

(378) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  contamination,"  observed 
Sylvia. 

"Of  course  not  that"  rejoined  Mrs.  Basse tt 
hastily.  "I  think  it's  fine  that  with  your  culture 
you  will  go  and  live  in  such  a  place;  it  shows  a  beau 
tiful  spirit  of  self-sacrifice." 

"Oh,  please  don't  say  that!  I'm  going  there  just 
because  I  want  to  go!"  And  then,  smiling  to  ease 
the  moment's  tension,  "I  expect  to  have  the  best 
of  times  at  Elizabeth  House." 

"Sylvia"  —  remarked  Mrs.  Owen,  drawling  the 
name  a  trifle  more  than  usual  —  "Sylvia  can  do 
what  she  pleases  anywhere." 

"I  think,"  said  Bassett,  who  had  not  before  en 
tered  into  the  discussion,  "that  Aunt  Sally  has 
struck  the  right  word  there.  In  these  days  a  girl 
can  do  as  she  likes;  and  we  have  n't  any  business  to 
discuss  Miss  Garrison's  right  to  live  at  Elizabeth 
House." 

"Of  course,  Sylvia,  we  did  n't  mean  to  seem  to 
criticize  you.  You  know  that,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett, 
flushing. 

"You  are  my  friends,"  said  Sylvia,  glancing  round 
the  table,  "and  if  there's  criticizing  to  be  done,  you 
have  the  first  right." 

"If  Sylvia  is  to  be  criticized,  —  and  I  don't  under 
stand  that  any  one  has  tried  it,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Owen,  -  "I  wrant  the  first  chance  at  her  myself." 
And  with  the  snapping  of  her  spectacle  case  they 
rose  from  the  table. 

They  had  barely  settled  themselves  in  the  parlor 
when  Harwood  and  Allen  arrived  in  Allen's  motor. 

(379) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Dan  had  expected  his  friend  to  resent  his  part  in  the 
convention,  and  he  had  sought  Allen  at  Liiders's 
shop  to  satisfy  himself  that  their  personal  relations 
had  not  been  disturbed.  He  had  found  Allen,  at  the 
end  of  a  day's  work,  perched  upon  a  bench  discours 
ing  to  the  workmen  on  the  Great  Experiment.  Al 
len  had,  it  seemed,  watched  the  convention  from  an 
obscure  corner  of  the  gallery.  He  pronounced  Dan's 
speech  " immense";  ''perfectly  bully";  he  was  ex 
travagant  in  his  praise  of  it.  His  father's  success  in 
naming  the  ticket  had  seemed  to  him  a  great  triumph. 
Allen  viewed  the  whole  matter  with  a  kind  of  detach 
ment,  as  a  spectator  whose  interest  is  wholly  imper 
sonal.  He  thought  there  would  be  a  great  fight  be 
tween  the  combatants;  his  dad  had  n't  finished  yet, 
he  declared,  sententiously.  The  incidents  of  the  con 
vention  had  convinced  him  that  the  Great  Experi 
ment  was  progressing  according  to  some  predestined 
formula.  He  and  Harwood  had  dined  together  at  the 
University  Club  and  he  was  quite  in  the  humor  to 
call  on  the  Bassetts  at  Mrs.  Owen's;  and  the  coming 
of  Sylvia,  as  to  whom  Mrs.  Owen  had  piqued  his 
curiosity,  was  not  to  be  overlooked. 

He  cleared  the  air  by  brushing  away  the  conven 
tion  with  a  word,  addressed  daringly  to  Bassett:  — 

"Papa's  come  back  from  fishing!  My  papa  is 
digging  bait,"  and  they  all  laughed. 

"  Miss  Garrison,  you  must  be  the  greatest  of  girls, 
for  you  have  my  own  ideas!  Our  invincible  young 
orator  here  has  been  telling  me  so!" 

"That  was  a  grand  speech;  many  happy  returns 
of  the  day!"  was  Marian's  greeting  to  Dan. 

(380) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

"You  certainly  have  a  great  voice,  Daniel, " 
remarked  Mrs.  Owen,  "and  you  had  your  nerve 
with  you." 

"You  were  effective  from  the  first  moment,  Mr. 
Harwood.  You  ought  to  consider  going  on  the 
lecture  platform,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett. 

"Oh,  Dan  hasn't  come  to  that  yet;  its  only  de 
feated  statesmen  who  spout  in  the  Chautauquas," 
Bassett  remarked. 

Harwood  was  in  fine  fettle.  Many  men  had  ex 
pressed  their  approval  of  him;  at  the  club  he  had 
enjoyed  the  chaffing  of  the  young  gentlemen  with 
whom  he  ate  luncheon  daily,  and  whose  tolerance  of 
the  universe  was  tinged  with  a  certain  cynicism. 
They  liked  Harwood;  they  knew  he  was  a  "smart" 
fellow;  and  because  they  liked  and  admired  him  they 
rallied  him  freely.  The  president  of  a  manufacturing 
company  had  called  at  the  Boordman  Building  to 
retain  him  in  a  damage  suit;  a  tribute  to  his  growing 
fame.  Dan  was  a  victim  of  that  error  to  which 
young  men  yield  in  exultant  moments,  when,  after 
a  first  brush  with  the  pickets,  they  are  confident  of 
making  their  own  terms  with  life.  Dan's  attitude 
toward  the  world  was  receptive;  here  in  the  Bassett 
domestic  circle  he  felt  no  shame  at  being  a  Bassett 
man.  All  but  Sylvia  had  spoken  to  him  of  his  part 
in  the  convention,  and  she  turned  to  him  now  after 
a  passage  with  Allen  that  had  left  the  young  man 
radiant. 

"You  have  a  devoted  admirer  in  Mr.  Thatcher. 
He  must  be  a  difficult  friend  to  satisfy,"  said  Sylvia. 

"Then  do  you  think  I  don't  satisfy  him?" 

(381) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Oh,  perfectly!  He's  a  combination  of  optimist 
and  fatalist,  I  judge.  He  thinks  nothing  matters 
much,  for  everything  is  coming  out  all  right  in  the 
end." 

"Then  where  do  you  place  me  in  his  scheme  of 
things?" 

"That  depends,  does  n't  it,"  she  replied  carelessly, 
"on  whether  you  are  the  master  of  the  ship  or  only 
a  prisoner  under  the  hatches." 

He  reddened,  and  she  added  nothing  to  relieve  his 
embarrassment. 

"You  think,  then — ?"  And  he  stopped,  uneasy 
under  her  gaze. 

"Some  of  the  time  I  don't  think;  I  just  wonder. 
And  that's  very  different,  is  n't  it?" 

He  realized  now  how  much  he  had  counted  on 
the  kind  things  he  had  expected  her  to  say.  He  had 
plainly  lost  ground  with  her  since  their  talk  on  the 
Madison  campus,  and  he  wanted  to  justify  himself, 
to  convince  her  of  his  rectitude,  and  of  her  failure 
to  understand  his  part  in  the  convention,  but  the 
time  and  place  were  unpropitious. 

Allen  was  calling  attention  to  the  moonlight  and 
proposing  an  automobile  flight  into  the  country.  His 
car  would  hold  them  all,  and  he  announced  himself 
the  safest  of  chauffeurs.  Mrs.  Owen  declined,  on  the 
double  plea  that  she  had  business  to  attend  to  and 
did  not  ride  in  motor  cars  even  to  please  Allen 
Thatcher;  Bassett  also  excused  himself;  so  the  rest 
set  off  presently  under  Mrs.  Bassett's  chaperonage. 

"Are  you  going  downtown,  Morton?"  asked  Mrs. 
Owen,  as  they  watched  the  motor  roll  away. 

(382) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

"No;  I'd  like  to  see  you  on  a  business  matter, 
Aunt  Sally,  if  you  can  give  me  a  few  minutes." 

" Certainly,  Morton;  come  right  in." 

She  flashed  on  the  lights  in  her  office  where 
Thomas  A.  Hendricks  still  gazed  benevolently  at 
Maud  S.  breaking  her  record. 

"I  owe  you  an  apology,  Aunt  Sally,"  Bassett 
began  at  once.  "  I  'm  sorry  I  got  you  into  a  lawsuit, 
but  things  moved  so  fast  that  I  did  n't  have  a  chance 
to  pull  you  out  of  the  way.  Thatcher  and  I  have 
agreed  to  disagree,  as  you  doubtless  know." 

Mrs.  Owen  drew  her  spectacle  case  from  her 
pocket  (there  were  pockets  and  deep  ones  in  all  her 
gowns),  wiped  her  glasses  and  put  them  on. 

"You  and  Edward  do  seem  to  be  having  a  little 
trouble.  When  I  got  home  I  found  that  summons  the 
sheriff  left  here.  Let  me  see;  it  was  away  back  in  '82 
that  I  was  sued  the  last  time.  Agent  for  a  corn- 
planter  sued  me  for  a  machine  I  never  ordered  and 
it  was  n't  worth  a  farthing  anyhow.  That  was  on 
my  Greene  County  place.  Just  for  that  I  had  him 
arrested  for  trespass  for  going  on  the  farm  to  take 
away  the  machine.  He  paid  the  costs  all  right,  and 
I  hope  he  learned  better  manners." 

This  reminiscence,  recalled  with  evident  enjoy 
ment,  was  not  wholly  encouraging.  It  seemed  darkly 
possible  that  she  had  cited  a  precedent  applicable  to 
every  case  where  she  was  haled  before  a  court.  The 
chairs  in  Mrs.  Owen's  office  were  decidedly  uncom 
fortable;  Bassett  crossed  and  recrossed  his  legs,  and 
pressed  his  hand  nervously  to  his  pocket  to  make 
sure  of  his  check-book;  for  he  was  prepared  to  pay  his 

(383) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

wife's  aunt  for  her  shares  in  the  " Courier"  news 
paper  to  facilitate  her  elimination  as  a  co-defendant 
in  the  suit  at  bar. 

"It  was  contemptible  of  Thatcher  to  drag  you 
into  this,  for  he  knew  you  took  those  shares  merely  to 
help  me  out.  I  'm  sorry  it  has  turned  out  this  way,  but 
I  'm  anxious  to  make  it  right  with  you,  and  I  'm  ready 
to  buy  your  shares  —  at  your  own  price,  of  course." 

She  chose  a  letter  from  the  afternoon's  mail,  and 
opened  it  with  a  horn-handled  paper-cutter,  crum 
pling  the  envelope  and  dropping  it  over  her  shoulder 
into  a  big  waste-paper  basket.  She  was  not  appar 
ently  overcome  by  his  magnanimity. 

"Well,  well,"  she  said,  glancing  over  the  letter; 
"that  man  I've  got  at  Waupegan  is  turning  out 
better  than  I  expected  when  I  put  him  there;  or 
else  he'  s  the  greatest  living  liar.  You  never  can  tell 
about  these  people.  Well,  well!  —  Oh,  yes,  Morton; 
about  that  lawsuit.  I  saw  Edward  this  afternoon 
and  had  a  little  talk  with  him  about  it." 

"You  saw  Thatcher  about  the  suit!" 

"I  most  certainly  did,  Morton.  I  had  him  go 
down  to  the  bank  to  talk  to  me." 

"I'm  sorry  you  took  the  trouble  to  do  that.  If 
you  'd  told  me  - 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  Edward  Thatcher.  If  a 
man  brings  a  lawsuit  against  me,  the  sooner  I  see 
him  the  better.  I  sent  word  to  Edward  and  he  was 
waiting  at  the  bank  when  I  got  there." 

"  I'd  given  Thatcher  credit  for  being  above  drag 
ging  a  woman  who  had  always  been  his  friend  into 
a  lawsuit.  He  certainly  owed  you  an  apology." 

(384) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

"I  did  n't  see  it  just  that  way,  Morton,  and  he 
did  n't  apologize.  I  would  n't  have  let  him!" 

She  looked  at  him  over  her  glasses  disconcert 
ingly,  and  he  could  think  of  no  reply.  It  was  possible 
that  Thatcher  had  bought  her  stock  or  that  she  had 
made  him  bid  for  it.  She  had  a  reputation  for  driving 
hard  bargains,  and  he  judged  from  her  manner  that 
her  conference  with  Thatcher,  whatever  its  nature, 
had  not  been  unsatisfactory.  He  recalled  with  exas 
peration  his  wife's  displeasure  over  this  whole  affair; 
it  was  incumbent  upon  him  not  only  to  reestablish 
himself  with  Mrs.  Owen,  but  to  do  it  in  a  way  to 
satisfy  Mrs.  Bassett. 

"  You  need  n't  worry  about  that  lawsuit,  Morton; 
there  ain't  going  to  be  any  lawsuit." 

She  gave  this  time  to  "soak  in,"  as  she  would 
have  expressed  it,  and  then  concluded :  — 

11  It's  all  off ;  I  persuaded  Edward  to  drop  the  suit. 
The  case  will  be  dismissed  in  the  morning." 

"Dismissed?   How  dismissed,  Aunt  Sally?" 

"Just  dismissed;  that's  all  there  is  of  it.  I  went 
to  see  Fitch,  too,  and  gave  him  a  piece  of  my  mind. 
He  wrote  me  a  letter  I  found  here  saying  that  in  my 
absence  he'd  taken  the  liberty  of  entering  an  ap 
pearance  for  me,  along  with  you,  in  the  case.  I  told 
him  I  'd  attend  to  my  own  lawsuits,  and  that  he 
could  just  scratch  his  appearance  off  the  docket." 

The  presumption  of  her  lawyer  seemed  to  obscure 
all  other  issues  for  the  moment.  Morton  Bassett  was 
annoyed  to  be  kept  waiting  for  an  explanation  that 
was  clearly  due  him  as  her  co-defendant;  he  con 
trolled  his  irritation  with  difficulty.  Her  imprud- 

(385) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ence  in  having  approached  his  enemy  filled  him 
with  forebodings ;  there  was  no  telling  what  compro 
mises  she  might  have  negotiated  with  Edward  G. 
Thatcher. 

"I  suppose  you  shamed  him  out  of  it?"  he 
suggested. 

" Shamed  him?  I  scared  him  out  of  it!  He  owns 
a  lot  of  property  in  this  town  that's  rented  for  un 
lawful  purposes,  and  I  told  him  I  'd  prosecute  him ; 
that,  and  a  few  other  things.  He  offered  to  buy  me 
out  at  a  good  price,  but  he  did  n't  get  very  far  with 
that.  It  was  a  good  figure,  though,"  she  added 
reflectively. 

His  spirits  rose  at  this  proof  of  her  loyalty  and 
he  hastened  to  manifest  his  appreciation.  His  wife's 
fears  would  be  dispelled  by  this  evidence  of  her 
aunt's  good  will  toward  the  family. 

"  I  rather  imagined  that  he'd  be  glad  to  quit  if  he 
saw  an  easy  way  out,  and  I  guess  you  gave  it  to  him. 
Now  about  your  stock,  Aunt  Sally.  I  don't  want  you 
to  be  brought  into  my  troubles  with  Thatcher  any 
further.  I  appreciate  your  help  so  far,  and  I  'm  able 
now  to  pay  for  your  shares.  I  don't  doubt  that  Ed 
offered  you  a  generous  price  to  get  a  controlling 
interest.  I  '11  write  a  check  for  any  sum  you  name, 
and  you'll  have  my  gratitude  besides." 

He  drew  out  his  check-book  and  laid  it  on  the  table, 
with  a  feeling  that  money,  which  according  to  tra 
dition  is  a  talkative  commodity,  might  now  conclude 
the  conversation.  Mrs.  Owen  saw  the  check-book  - 
looked  at  it  over  her  glasses,  apparently  without 
emotion. 

(386) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

'  I  'm  not  going  to  sell  those  shares,  Morton ;  not 
to  you  or  anybody  else." 

"But  as  a  matter  of  maintaining  my  own  dig 
nity - 

11  Your  own  dignity  is  something  I  want  to  speak 
to  you  about,  Morton.  I  've  been  watching  you  ever 
since  you  married  Hallie,  and  wondering  just  where 
you  'd  bump.  You  and  Edwrard  Thatcher  have  been 
pretty  thick  and  you've  had  a  lot  of  fun  out  of  poli 
tics.  This  row  you  Ve  got  into  with  him  was  bound 
to  come.  I  know  Edward  better  —  just  a  little  bet 
ter  than  I  know  you.  He's  not  a  beautiful  character, 
but  he's  not  as  bad  as  they  make  out.  But  you've 
given  him  a  hard  rub  the  wrong  way  and  he's  going 
to  get  even  with  you.  He 's  mighty  bitter  —  bitterer 
than  it's  healthy  for  one  man  to  be  against  another. 
If  it  had  n't  been  for  this  newspaper  fuss  I  should  n't 
ever  have  said  a  word  to  you  about  it;  but  I  advise 
you  to  straighten  things  up  with  Edward.  You'd 
better  do  it  for  your  own  good  —  for  Hallie  and  the 
children.  You've  insulted  him  and  held  him  up  to 
the  whole  state  of  Indiana  as  a  fool.  You  need  n't 
think  he  does  n't  know  just  where  you  gripped  that 
convention  tight,  and  just  where  you  let  him  have  it 
to  play  with.  He's  got  more  money  than  you  have, 
and  he's  going  to  spend  it  to  give  you  some  of  your 
own  medicine  or  worse,  if  he  can.  He 's  like  a  mule 
that  lays  for  the  nigger  that  put  burrs  under  his 
collar.  You're  that  particular  nigger  just  now. 
You've  made  a  mistake,  Morton." 

"  But  Aunt  Sally  —  I  did  n't  - 

"  About  that  newspaper,  Morton,"  she  continued, 

(387) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ignoring  him.  "I've  decided  that  I'll  just  hang  on 
to  my  stock.  You've  built  up  the  '.Courier'  better 
than  I  expected,  and  that  last  statement  showed  it 
to  be  doing  fine.  I  don't  know  any  place  right  now 
where  I  can  do  as  well  with  the  money.  You  see 
I  've  got  about  all  the  farms  I  can  handle  at  my  age, 
and  it  will  be  some  fun  to  have  a  hand  in  running  a 
newspaper.  I  want  you  to  tell  'em  down  at  the  '  Cou 
rier'  office  —  what's  his  name?  Atwill?  Well,  you 
tell  him  I  want  this  'Stop,  Look,  Listen'  business 
stopped.  If  you  can't  think  of  anything  smarter 
to  do  than  that,  you  'd  better  quit.  You  had  no  busi 
ness  to  turn  a  newspaper  against  a  man  who  owns 
half  of  it  without  giving  him  a  chance  to  get  off 
the  track.  You  whistled,  Morton,  after  you  had 
pitched  him  and  his  side-bar  buggy  into  the  ditch 
and  killed  his  horse." 

"But  who  had  put  him  on  the  track?  I  had  n't! 
He'd  been  running  over  the  state  for  two  years,  to 
my  knowledge,  trying  to  undermine  me.  I  was  only 
giving  him  in  broad  daylight  what  he  was  giving  me 
in  the  dark.  You  don't  understand  this,  Aunt  Sally; 
he's  been  playing  on  your  feelings." 

"  Morton  Bassett,  there  ain't  a  man  on  earth  that 
can  play  on  my  feelings.  I  did  n't  let  him  jump  on 
you;  and  I  don't  intend  to  let  you  abuse  him.  I've 
told  you  to  stop  nagging  him,  but  I  have  n't  any 
idea  you  '11  do  it.  That 's  your  business.  If  you  want 
a  big  bump,  you  go  on  and  get  it.  About  this  news 
paper,  I  'm  going  to  keep  my  shares,  and  I  Ve  told 
Edward  that  you  would  n't  use  the  paper  as  a  club 
on  him  while  I  was  interested  in  it.  You  can  print 

(388) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

all  the  politics  you  want,  but  it  must  be  clean  poli 
tics,  straight  out  from  the  shoulder." 

He  had  lapsed  into  sullen  silence,  too  stunned  to 
interrupt  the  placid  flow  of  her  speech.  She  had  not 
only  meddled  in  his  affairs  in  a  fashion  that  would 
afford  comfort  to  his  enemy,  but  she  was  now  dictat 
ing  terms  —  this  old  woman  whose  mild  tone  was 
in  itself  maddening.  The  fear  of  incurring  his  wife's 
wrath  alone  checked  an  outburst  of  indignation.  In 
all  his  life  no  one  had  ever  warned  him  to  his  face  that 
he  was  pursuing  a  course  that  led  to  destruction. 
He  had  always  enjoyed  her  capriciousness,  her  whim 
sical  humor,  but  there  was  certainly  nothing  for  him 
to  smile  at  in  this  interview.  She  had  so  plied  the 
lash  that  it  cut  to  the  quick.  His  pride  and  self-con 
fidence  were  deeply  wounded; — his  wife's  elderly 
aunt  did  not  believe  in  his  omnipotence!  This  was  a 
shock  in  itself;  but  what  fantastic  nonsense  was  she 
uttering  now? 

"Since  I  bought  that  stock,  Morton,  I've  been 
reading  the  'Courier'  clean  through  every  day,  and 
there  are  some  things  about  that  paper  I  don't  like. 
I  guess  you  and  Edward  Thatcher  ain't  so  particu 
larly  religious,  and  when  you  took  hold  of  it  you  cut 
out  that  religious  page  they  used  to  print  every 
Sunday.  You  better  tell  Atwill  to  start  that  up 
again.  I  notice,  too,  that  the  'Courier'  sneaks  in 
little  stingers  at  the  Jews  occasionally  —  they  may 
just  get  in  by  mistake,  but  you  ought  to  have  a  rule 
at  the  office  against  printing  stories  as  old  as  the 
hills  about  Jews  burning  down  their  clothing-stores 
to  get  the  insurance.  I  've  known  a  few  Gentiles  that 

(389) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

did  that.  The  only  man  I  know  that  I  'd  lend  money 
to  without  security  is  a  Jew.  Let 's  not  jump  on  peo 
ple  just  to  hurt  their  feelings.  And  besides,  we  don't 
any  of  us  know  much  more  these  days  than  old 
Moses  knew.  And  that  fellow  who  writes  the  little 
two-line  pieces  under  the  regular  editorials  —  he 's 
too  smart,  and  he  ain't  always  as  funny  as  he  thinks 
he  is.  There's  no  use  in  popping  bird-shot  at  things 
if  they  ain't  right,  and  that  fellow's  always  trying  to 
hurt  somebody's  feelings  without  doing  anybody 
any  good." 

She  opened  a  drawer  of  her  desk  and  drew  out  a 
memorandum  to  refresh  her  memory. 

"You've  got  a  whole  page  and  on  Sundays  two 
pages  about  baseball  and  automobiles,  and  the  horse 
is  getting  crowded  down  into  a  corner.  We"  —  he 
was  not  unmindful  of  the  plural  —  "we  must  print 
more  horse  news.  You  tell  Atwill  to  send  his  young 
man  that  does  the  '  Horse  and  Track '  around  to  see 
me  occasionally  and  I  '11  be  glad  to  help  him  get  some 
horse  news  that  is  news.  I  would  n't  want  to  have 
you  bounce  a  young  man  who's  doing  the  best  he 
can,  but  it  does  n't  do  a  newspaper  any  good  to  speak 
of  Dan  Patch  as  a  trotting-horse  or  give  the  record 
of  my  two-year-old  filly  Penelope  O  as  2 : 09  J  when 
she  made  a  clean  2:09.  You've  got  to  print  facts 
in  a  newspaper  if  you  want  people  to  respect  it. 
How  about  that,  Morton?" 

"You're  right,  Aunt  Sally.  I'll  speak  to  Atwill 
about  his  horse  news." 

He  began  to  wonder  whether  she  were  not  amus 
ing  herself  at  his  expense;  but  she  gave  him  no  rea- 

(390) 


A  SHORT  HORSE  SOON  CURRIED 

son  for  doubting  her  seriousness.  They  might  have 
been  partners  from  the  beginning  of  time  from  her 
businesslike  manner  of  criticizing  the  paper.  She  had 
not  only  flatly  refused  to  sell  her  shares,  but  she  was 
taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity  (for  which  she 
seemed  to  be  prepared)  to  tell  him  how  the  "Cou 
rier"  should  be  conducted! 

"About  farming,  Morton,"  she  continued  de 
liberately,  "the  'Courier'  has  fun  every  now  and 
then  over  the  poor  but  honest  farmer,  and  prints 
pictures  of  him  when  he  comes  to  town  for  the  State 
Fair  that  make  him  look  like  a  scarecrow.  Farming, 
Morton,  is  a  profession,  nowadays,  and  those  poor 
yaps  Eggleston  wrote  about  in  '  The  Hoosier  School 
master'  were  all  dead  and  buried  before  you  were 
born.  Farmers  are  up  and  coming  I  can  tell  you, 
and  I  would  n't  lose  their  business  by  poking  fun  at 
'em.  That  Saturday  column  of  farm  news,  by  the 
way,  is  a  fraud  —  all  stolen  out  of  the  'Western 
Farmers'  Weekly'  and  no  credit.  They  must  keep 
that  column  in  cold  storage  to  run  it  the  way  they 
do.  They're  usually  about  a  season  behind  time  — 
telling  how  to  plant  corn  along  in  August  and  plant 
ing  winter  wheat  about  Christmas.  Our  farm  editor 
must  have  been  raised  on  a  New  York  roof- garden. 
Another  thing  I  want  to  speak  of  is  the  space 
they  give  to  farmers'  and  stockmen's  societies  when 
they  meet  here.  The  last  time  the  Hoosier  State 
Mulefoot  Hog  Association  met  —  right  here  in  town 
at  the  Horticultural  Society's  room  at  the  State 
House  —  all  the  notice  they  got  in  the  'Courier' 
was  five  lines  in  'Minor  Mention.'  The  same  day 

(391) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  State  Bankers'  Association  filled  three  columns, 
and  most  of  that  was  a  speech  by  Tom  Adams  on 
currency  reform.  You  might  tell  that  funny  edi 
torial  man  to  give  Adams  a  poke  now  and  then,  and 
stop  throwing  chestnuts  about  gold  bricks  and  green 
goods  at  farmers.  And  he  need  n't  show  the  bad 
state  of  his  liver  by  sarcastically  speaking  of  farmers 
as  honest  husbandmen  either;  a  farmer  is  a  farmer, 
unless,  for  lack  of  God's  grace,  he's  a  fool!  I  guess 
the  folks  are  coming  now.  I  hope  Allen  won't  knock 
down  the  house  with  that  threshing-machine  of  his. 
That 's  all  this  time.  Let  me  see  —  you  'd  better 
tell  your  editor  to  call  on  me  now  and  then.  What 
did  you  say  his  name  was,  Morton?" 

"Atwill  —  Arthur  P." 

11  Is  he  a  son  of  that  Ebenezer  Atwill  who  used  to 
be  a  professor  in  Asbury  College?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  not,  Aunt  Sally;  I  don't  think  he  ever 
heard  of  Ebenezer,"  replied  Bassett,  with  all  the 
irony  he  dared. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   GRAY   SISTERHOOD 

ELIZABETH  HOUSE  was  hospitable  to  male 
visitors,  and  Dan  found  Sylvia  there  often  on 
the  warm,  still  summer  evenings,  when  the 
young  women  of  the  household  filled  the  veranda 
and  overflowed  upon  the  steps.  Sylvia's  choice  of 
a  boarding-house  had  puzzled  Dan  a  good  deal,  but 
there  were  a  good  many  things  about  Sylvia  that 
baffled  him.  For  example,  this  preparation  for  teach 
ing  in  a  public  school  when  she  might  have  had  an 
assistant  professorship  in  a  college  seemed  a  sad 
waste  of  energy  and  opportunity.  She  was  going 
to  school  to  her  inferiors,  he  maintained,  submitting 
to  instruction  as  meekly  as  though  she  were  not 
qualified  to  enlighten  her  teachers  in  any  branch  of 
knowledge.  It  was  preposterous  that  she  should 
deliberately  elect  to  spend  the  hottest  of  summers 
in  learning  to  combine  the  principles  of  Pestalozzi 
with  the  methods  of  Dewey  and  Kendall. 

The  acquaintance  of  Sylvia  and  Allen  prospered 
from  the  start.  She  was  not  only  a  new  girl  in  town, 
and  one  capable  of  debating  the  questions  that  in 
terested  him,  but  he  was  charmed  with  Elizabeth 
House,  which  was  the  kind  of  thing,  he  declared,  that 
he  had  always  stood  for.  The  democracy  of  the 
veranda,  the  good  humor  and  ready  give  and  take 

(393) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

of  the  young  women  delighted  him.  They  liked  him 
and  openly  called  him  "our  beau."  He  established 
himself  on  excellent  terms  with  the  matron  to  the  end 
that  he  might  fill  his  automobile  with  her  charges 
frequently  and  take  them  for  runs  into  the  country. 
When  Dan  grumbled  over  Sylvia's  absurd  immola 
tion  on  the  altar  of  education,  Allen  pronounced  her 
the  grandest  girl  in  the  world  and  the  glory  of  the 
Great  Experiment. 

Sylvia  was  intent  these  days  upon  fitting  herself 
as  quickly  as  possible  for  teaching,  becoming  a  part 
of  the  established  system  and  avoiding  none  of  the 
processes  by  which  teachers  are  created.  Her  fellow 
students,  most  of  whom  were  younger  than  she, 
were  practically  all  the  green  fruitage  of  high  schools, 
but  she  asked  no  immunities  or  privileges  by  reason 
of  her  college  training;  she  yielded  herself  submis 
sively  to  the  "system, "and  established  herself  among 
the  other  novices  on  a  footing  of  good  comradeship. 
During  the  hot,  vexatious  days  she  met  them  with 
unfailing  good  cheer.  The  inspiring  example  of  her 
college  teachers,  and  not  least  the  belief  she  had 
absorbed  on  the  Madison  campus  in  her  girlhood,  that 
teaching  is  a  high  calling,  eased  the  way  for  her  at 
times  when — as  occasionally  happened  —  she  failed 
to  appreciate  the  beauty  of  the  "system." 

The  superintendent  of  schools,  dropping  into  the 
Normal  after  hours,  caught  Sylvia  in  the  act  of 
demonstrating  a  problem  in  geometry  on  the  black 
board  for  the  benefit  of  a  fellow  student  who  had 
not  yet  abandoned  the  hope  of  entering  the  state 
university  that  fall.  The  superintendent  had  been  in 

(394) 


THE  GRAY  SISTERHOOD 

quest  of  a  teacher  of  mathematics  for  the  Manual 
Training  School,  and  on  appealing  to  the  Wellesley 
authorities  they  had  sent  him  Sylvia's  name.  Sylvia, 
the  chalk  still  in  her  fingers,  met  his  humorous  re 
proaches  smilingly.  She  had  made  him  appear  ridi 
culous  in  the  eyes  of  her  alma  mater,  he  said.  Sylvia 
declined  his  offer  and  smiled.  The  superintendent 
was  not  used  to  smiles  like  that  in  his  corps.  And 
this  confident  young  woman  seemed  to  know  what 
she  was  about.  He  went  away  mystified,  and  meet 
ing  John  Ware  related  his  experience.  Ware  laughed 
and  slapped  his  knee.  "  You  let  that  girl  alone,"  the 
minister  said.  "She  has  her  finger  on  Time's  wrist. 
Physician  of  the  golden  age.  Remember  Matthew 
Arnold's  lines  on  Goethe?  Good  poem.  Sylvia 
wants  to  know  'the  causes  of  things.'  Watch  her. 
Great  nature." 

At  seven  o'clock  on  a  morning  of  September, 
Sylvia  left  Elizabeth  House  to  begin  her  novitiate 
as  a  teacher.  Allen  had  declared  his  intention  of 
sending  his  automobile  for  her  every  morning,  an 
offer  that  was  promptly  declined.  However,  on  that 
bright  morning  when  the  young  world  turned  school- 
ward,  Harwood  lay  in  wait  for  her. 

"This  must  never  happen  again,  sir!  And  of 
course  you  may  not  carry  my  books  —  they  're  the 
symbol  of  my  profession.  Seventeen  thousand  young 
persons  about  like  me  are  on  the  way  to  school  this 
morning  right  here  in  Indiana.  It  would  be  fright 
fully  embarrassing  to  the  educational  system  if  young 
gentlemen  were  allowed  to  carry  the  implements  of 
our  trade." 

(395) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"  You  can't  get  rid  of  me  now:  I  never  get  up  as 
early  as  this  unless  I'm  catching  a  train." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  you,  then!" 

"There  will  be  mornings  when  you  won't  think 
it  so  much  fun.  It  rains  and  snows  in  Indiana  some 
times." 

He  still  resented  the  idea  of  her  sacrifice,  as  he 
called  it,  in  the  cause  of  education.  They  were  now 
so  well  acquainted  that  they  were  not  always  care 
ful  to  be  polite  in  their  talk;  but  he  had  an  uneasy 
feeling  that  she  did  n't  wholly  approve  of  him.  All 
summer,  when  they  had  discussed  politics,  she  had 
avoided  touching  upon  his  personal  interests  and 
activities.  His  alliance  with  Bassett,  emphasized 
in  the  state  convention,  was  a  subject  she  clearly 
avoided.  This  morning,  as  he  kept  time  to  her  quick 
step,  he  craved  her  interest  and  sympathy.  Her 
plain  gray  suit  and  simple  cloth  hat  could  not  dis 
guise  her  charm  or  grace.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she 
was  putting  herself  a  little  further  away  from  him, 
that  she  was  approaching  the  business  of  life  with 
a  determination,  a  spirit,  a  zest,  that  dwarfed  to 
insignificance  his  own  preoccupation  with  far  less 
important  matters.  She  turned  to  glance  back  at 
a  group  of  children  they  had  passed  audibly  specu 
lating  as  to  the  character  of  teacher  the  day  held  in 
store  for  them. 

"Don't  you  think  they're  worth  working  for?" 
Sylvia  asked. 

Dan  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  suppose  more  lives  are  ground  up  in  the  school- 
teaching  machine  than  in  any  other  way.  Go  on! 

(396) 


THE  GRAY  SISTERHOOD 

The  girl  who  taught  me  my  alphabet  in  the  little 
red  school-house  in  Harrison  County  earned  her 
salary,  I  can  tell  you.  She  was  seventeen  and  wore 
a  pink  dress." 

"  I  'm  sorry  you  don't  approve  of  me  or  my  clothes. 
Now  Allen  approves  of  me:  I  like  Allen." 
"His  approval  is  important,  I  dare  say." 
"  Yes,  very.    It's  nice  to  be  approved  of.    It  helps 


some." 


"And  I  suppose  there  ought  to  be  a  certain  reci 
procity  in  approval  and  disapproval?" 

"Oh,  there's  bound  to  be!" 

Their  eyes  met  and  they  laughed  lightheartedly. 

"  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  something,"  said  Dan.  "On 
the  reciprocal  theory  I  can't  expect  anything,  but 
I  'm  lonesome  and  have  no  friends  anyhow,  so  I  'II 
give  you  a  chance  to  say  something  withering  and 
edged  with  a  fine  scorn." 

"Good!    I  '11  promise  not  to  disappoint  you." 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  put  on  the  legislature  ticket  to 
day  —  to  fill  a  vacancy.  I  suppose  you  '11  pray  earn 
estly  for  my  defeat." 

"Why  should  I  waste  prayers  on  that?  Besides, 
Allen  solemnly  declares  that  the  people  are  to  be 
trusted.  It's  not  for  me  to  set  my  prayers  against 
the  will  of  the  pee-pull." 

"  If  you  had  a  vote,"  he  persisted,  "you  would  n't 
vote  for  me?" 

"  I  should  have  to  know  what  you  want  to  go  to 
the  legislature  for  before  committing  myself.  What 
are  you  doing  it  for?" 

"To  do  all  the  mischief  I  can,  of  course;  to  sup- 

(397) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

port  all  the  worst  measures  that  come  up;  to  jump 
when  the  boss's  whip  cracks!" 

She  refused  to  meet  him  on  this  ground.  He  saw 
that  any  expectation  he  might  have  that  she  would 
urge  him  to  pledge  himself  to  noble  endeavor  and 
high  achievements  as  a  state  legislator  were  doomed 
to  disappointment.  He  was  taken  aback  by  the 
tone  of  her  retort. 

"  I  hope  you  will  do  all  those  things.  You  could  do* 
nothing  better  calculated  to  help  your  chances. " 

"Chances?" 

"Your  chances  —  and  we  don't  any  of  us  have- 
too  many  —  of  coming  to  some  good  sometime." 

"  I  believe  you  are  really  serious;  but  I  don't  un 
derstand  you." 

"Then  I  shall  be  explicit.  Just  this,  then,  to  play 
the  ungrateful  part  of  the  frank  friend.  The  sooner 
you  get  your  fingers  burnt,  the  sooner  you  will  let 
the  fire  alone.  I  suppose  Mr.  Bassett  has  given  the 
word  that  you  are  graciously  to  be  permitted  to  sit 
in  his  legislature.  He  could  hardly  do  less  for  you 
than  that:,  after  he  sent  you  into  the  arena  last  June 
to  prod  the  sick  lion  for  his  entertainment." 

They  were  waiting  at  a  corner  for  a  break  in  the 
street  traffic,  and  he  turned  toward  her  guardedly, 

"You  put  it  pretty  low,"  he  mumbled. 

"The  thing  itself  is  not  so  bad.  From  what  I  have 
heard  and  read  about  Mr.  Bassett,  I  don't  think  he 
is  really  an  evil  person.  He  probably  did  n't  start 
with  any  sort  of  ideals  of  public  life:  you  did.  I  read 
in  an  essay  the  other  night  that  the  appeal  of  the 
highest  should  be  always  to  the  lowest.  But  you  're 

(398) 


THE  GRAY  SISTERHOOD 

not  appealing  to  anybody;  you're  just  following  the 
band  wagon  to  the  centre  of  the  track.  Stop,  Look, 
Listen!  You 've  come  far  enough  with  me  now.  The 
walls  of  my  prison  house  loom  before  me.  Good- 
morning!" 

"Good-morning  and  good  luck!" 

That  night  Sylvia  wrote  a  letter  to  one  of  her  class 
mates  in  Boston.  "  I  'm  a  school-teacher,"  she  said, 
—  "a  member  of  the  gray  sisterhood  of  American 
nuns.  All  over  this  astonishing  country  my  sisters 
of  this  honorable  order  rise  up  in  the  morning,  even 
as  you  and  I,  to  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot. 
I  look  with  veneration  upon  those  of  our  sisterhood 
who  have  grown  old  in  the  classroom.  I  can  see  my 
self  reduced  to  a  bundle  of  nerves,  irascible,  worth 
less,  ready  for  the  scrap-pile  at,  we  will  say,  forty- 
two —  only  twenty  years  ahead  of  me!  My  work 
looks  so  easy  and  I  like  it  so  much  that  I  went  in 
fright  to  the  dictionary  to  look  up  the  definition 
of  teacher.  I  find  that  I  'm  one  who  teaches  or  in 
structs.  Think  of  it  —  I !  That  definition  should  be 
revised  to  read,  'Teacher:  one  who,  conveying  cer 
tain  information  to  others,  reads  in  fifty  faces  un 
answerable  questions  as  to  the  riddle  of  existence.' 
'  School :  a  place  where  the  presumably  wise  are  con 
vinced  of  their  own  folly.'  Note  well,  my  friend: 
I  am  a  gray  sister,  in  a  gray  serge  suit  that  fits,  with 
white  cuffs  and  collar,  and  with  chalk  on  my  fingers. 
Oh,  it's  not  what  I'm  required  to  teach,  but  what 
I  'm  going  to  learn  that  worries  me!" 

Ltiders's  shop  was  not  far  from  Sylvia's  school  and 

(399) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Allen  devised  many  excuses  for  waylaying  her.  His 
machine  being  forbidden,  he  hung  about  until  she 
appeared  and  trudged  homeward  with  her.  Often  he 
came  in  a  glow  from  the  cabinetmaker's  and  sub 
mitted  for  her  judgment  the  questions  that  had  been 
debated  that  day  at  the  shop.  There  was  something 
sweet  and  wistful  and  charming  in  his  boyishness; 
and  she  was  surprised,  as  Harwood  had  been  from  the 
first,  by  the  intelligence  he  evinced  in  political  and 
social  questions.  He  demanded  absolute  answers  to 
problems  that  were  perplexing  wise  men  all  over  the 
world. 

"  If  I  could  answer  that,"  she  would  say  to  him, 
"  I  should  be  entitled  to  a  monument  more  enduring 
than  brass.  The  comfort  and  happiness  of  mankind 
is  n't  to  be  won  in  a  day:  we  must  n't  pull  up  the 
old  tree  till  we've  got  a  new  one  planted  and  grow 
ing." 

"The  Great  Experiment  will  turn  out  all  right 
yet!  Some  fellow  we  never  heard  of  will  give  the 
lever  a  jerk  some  day,  and  there  will  be  a  rumble 
and  a  flash  and  it  will  run  perfectly,"  he  asserted. 

The  state  campaign  got  under  way  in  October, 
and  Harwood  was  often  discussed  in  relation  to  it. 
Allen  always  praised  Dan  extravagantly,  and  was 
ever  alert  to  defend  him  against  her  criticisms. 

"  My  dad  will  run  the  roller  over  Bassett,  but  Dan 
will  be  smart  enough  to  get  from  under.  It's  the 
greatest  show  on  earth  —  continuous  vaudeville  - 
this  politics!  Dan's  all  right.  He 's  got  more  brains 
than  Bassett.  One  of  these  days  Dan  will  take  a 
flop  and  land  clean  over  in  the  Thatcher  camp.  It's 

(400) 


THE  GRAY  SISTERHOOD 

only  a  matter  of  time.  Gratitude  and  considerations 
like  that  are  holding  him  back.  But  I  'm  not  a  par 
tisan  —  not  even  on  dad 's  side.  I  'm  the  philo 
sopher  who  sits  on  the  fence  and  keeps  the  score  by 
innings." 

It  seemed  to  her,  in  those  days  and  afterward, 
that  Allen  symbolized  the  unknown  quantity  in  all 
the  problems  that  absorbed  him.  His  idealism  was 
not  a  thing  of  the  air,  but  a  flowering  from  old  and 
vigorous  roots.  His  politics  was  a  kind  of  religion, 
and  it  did  not  prove  upon  analysis  to  be  either  so 
fantastical  or  so  fanatical  as  she  had  believed  at 
first.  As  the  days  shortened,  he  would  prolong  their 
walk  until  the  shops  and  factories  discharged  their 
employees  upon  the  streets.  The  fine  thing  about 
the  people  was,  he  said,  the  fact  that  they  were  con 
tent  to  go  on  from  day  to  day,  doing  the  things  they 
did,  when  the  restraints  upon  them  were  so  light,  — 
it  proved  the  enduring  worth  of  the  Great  Experi 
ment.  Then  they  would  plunge  into  the  thick  of 
the  crowd  and  cross  the  Monument  plaza,  where  he 
never  failed  to  pay  a  tribute  in  his  own  fashion  to 
the  men  the  gray  shaft  commemorated.  In  these 
walks  they  spoke  French,  which  he  employed  more 
readily  than  she:  in  his  high  moods  it  seemed  to  ex 
press  him  better  than  English.  It  amused  him  to 
apply  new  names  to  the  thoroughfares  they  tra 
versed.  For  example,  he  gayly  renamed  Monument 
Place  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  assuring  her  that 
the  southward  vista  in  the  Rue  de  la  Meridienne, 
disclosing  the  lamp-bestarred  terrace  of  the  new 
Federal  Building,  and  the  electric  torches  of  the 

(401) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Monument  beyond,  was  highly  reminiscent  of  Paris. 
Sylvia  was  able  to  dramatize  for  herself,  from  the 
abundant  material  he  artlessly  supplied,  the  life  he 
had  led  abroad  during  his  long  exile:  as  a  youngster 
he  had  enjoyed  untrammeled  freedom  of  the  streets 
of  Paris  and  Berlin,  and  he  showed  a  curiously  de 
veloped  sympathy  for  the  lives  of  the  poor  and 
unfortunate  that  had  been  born  of  those  early  ex 
periences.  He  was  a  great  resource  to  her,  and  she 
enjoyed  him  as  she  would  have  enjoyed  a  girl  com 
rade.  He  confessed  his  admiration  for  Marian  in  the 
frankest  fashion.  She  was  adorable;  the  greatest  girl 
in  the  world. 

"Ah,  sometime,"  he  would  say,  "who  knows!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE   KANKAKEE 

HARWOOD'S  faith  in  Bassett  as  a  political 
prophet  was  badly  shaken  by  the  result 
of  the  campaign  that  fall.  About  half  the 
Democratic  candidates  for  state  office  were  elected, 
but  even  more  surprising  was  the  rolling-up  of  a 
good  working  majority  in  both  houses  of  the  General 
Assembly.  If  Thatcher  had  knifed  Bassett  men  or  if 
Thatcher  men  had  been  knifed  at  Bassett's  behest, 
evidence  of  such  perfidy  was  difficult  to  adduce  from 
the  returns.  Harwood  was  not  sure,  as  he  studied 
the  figures,  whether  his  party's  surprising  success 
was  attributable  to  a  development  of  real  strength 
in  Thatcher,  who  had  been  much  in  evidence  through 
out  the  campaign,  or  whether  Bassett  deserved  the 
credit.  He  was  disposed  to  think  it  only  another 
•expression  of  that  capriciousness  of  the  electorate 
which  is  often  manifested  in  years  when  national 
success  is  not  directly  involved.  While  Thatcher 
and  Bassett  had  apparently  struck  a  truce  and  har 
monized  their  factions,  Harwood  had  at  no  time  en 
tertained  illusions  as  to  the  real  attitude  of  the  men 
toward  each  other.  When  the  entente  between  the 
leaders  was  mentioned  among  Thatcher's  intimates 
they  were  prone  to  declare  that  Ed  would  "get" 
Bassett;  it  might  take  time,  but  the  day  of  retribu 
tion  would  surely  come. 

(403) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

As  a  candidate  for  the  lower  house  in  Marion 
County,  Harwood  had  been  thrust  forward  prom 
inently  into  a  campaign  whose  liveliness  belied  the 
traditional  apathy  of  "off"  years.  On  the  Saturday 
night  before  the  election,  Thatcher  and  Bassett  had 
appeared  together  on  the  platform  at  a  great  meet 
ing  at  the  capital  —  one  of  those  final  flourishes  by 
which  county  chairmen  are  prone  to  hearten  their 
legions  against  the  morrow's  battle.  Bassett  had 
spoken  for  ten  minutes  at  this  rally,  urging  support 
of  the  ticket  and  in  crisp  phrases  giving  the  lie  to 
reports  of  his  lukewarmness.  His  speech  was  the 
more  noteworthy  from  the  fact  that  it  was  the  first 
time,  in  all  his  political  career,  that  he  had  ever 
spoken  at  a  political  meeting,  and  there  was  no  ques 
tioning  its  favorable  impression. 

Bassett  was,  moreover,  reflected  to  his  old  seat 
in  the  senate  without  difficulty;  and  Harwood  ran 
ahead  of  his  associates  on  the  legislative  ticket  in 
Marion  County,  scoring  a  plurality  that  testified  to- 
his  personal  popularity.  Another  campaign  must 
intervene  before  the  United  States  Senatorship  be 
came  an  acute  issue,  and  meanwhile  the  party  in  the 
state  had  not  in  many  years  been  so  united.  Credit 
was  freely  given  to  the  "Courier"  for  the  formid 
able  strength  developed  by  the  Democracy:  and  it 
had  become  indubitably  a  vigorous  and  conserva 
tive  reflector  of  party  opinion,  without  estranging 
a  growing  constituency  of  readers  who  liked  its 
clean  and  orderly  presentation  of  general  news.  The 
ownership  of  the  newspaper  had  become,  since  the 
abrupt  termination  of  the  lawsuit  instituted  by 

(404) 


A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE 

Thatcher,  almost  as  much  of  a  mystery  as  formerly. 
Harwood 's  intimate  relations  with  it  had  not  been 
revived,  and  neither  Mrs.  Owen  nor  Bassett  ever 
spoke  to  him  of  the  newspaper  except  in  the  most 
casual  fashion. 

Dan  was  conscious  that  the  senator  from  Eraser 
had  changed  in  the  years  that  had  passed  since 
the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance.  Bassett  had 
outwardly  altered  little  as  he  crossed  the  watershed 
of  middle  life;  but  it  seemed  to  Dan  that  the  ill- 
temper  he  had  manifested  in  the  Thatcher  affair  had 
marked  a  climacteric.  The  self-control  and  restraint 
that  had  so  impressed  him  at  first  had  visibly  dim 
inished.  What  Harwood  had  taken  for  steel  seemed 
to  him  now  only  iron  after  all  —  and  brittle  iron. 

During  the  last  week  of  the  campaign  an  incident 
occurred  that  shook  Harwood  a  good  deal.  He  had 
been  away  from  the  capital  for  several  days  making 
speeches,  and  finding  that  his  itinerary  would  permit 
it,  he  ran  into  town  unexpectedly  one  night  to  re 
plenish  his  linen  and  look  at  his  mail.  An  interurban 
car  landed  him  in  town  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  he  went 
directly  to  the  Boordman  Building.  As  he  walked 
down  the  hall  toward  his  office  he  was  surprised  to 
see  a  light  showing  on  the  ground-glass  door  of 
Room  66.  Though  Bassett  kept  a  room  at  the  Whit- 
comb  for  private  conferences,  he  occasionally  used 
his  office  in  the  Boordman  for  the  purpose,  and  see 
ing  the  rooms  lighted,  Dan  expected  to  find  him 
there.  He  tried  the  door  and  found  it  locked,  and 
as  he  drew  out  his  key  he  heard  suddenly  the  click 
of  the  typewriter  inside.  Miss  Farrell  was  rarely  at 

(405) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

% 

the  office  at  night,  but  as  Harwood  opened  the  door, 
he  found  her  busily  tapping  the  keys  of  her  machine. 
She  swung  round  quickly  with  an  air  of  surprise, 
stretched  herself,  and  yawned. 

"Well,  I  wasn't  exactly  looking  for  you,  but  I 
can't  deny  that  I'm  glad  to  be  interrupted.  Hope 
you  don't  mind  my  doing  a  small  job  on  the  side  — " 

As  Harwood  stood,  suit-case  in  hand,  blinking  at 
her,  he  heard  a  door  farther  down  the  hall  close, 
followed  by  a  step  in  the  hall  outside.  Harwood  had 
seen  no  lights  in  the  neighboring  offices  as  he  crossed 
the  hall,  and  in  his  frequent  long  night  vigils  with 
his  law  books,  it  was  the  rarest  thing  to  find  any  of 
the  neighboring  tenants  about.  He  turned  quickly 
to  the  door  while  the  retreating  steps  were  still 
audible. 

"Oh!" 

Rose  had  half-risen  from  her  seat  as  he  put  his 
hand  to  the  knob  and  her  tone  of  alarm  arrested 
him.  Instead  of  flinging  open  the  door  he  dropped 
his  bag  into  a  corner.  His  face  flushed  with  sudden 
anger. 

"I  did  n't  suppose  you'd  mind  my  doing  a  little 
extra  work  out  of  hours,  Mr.  Harwood.  Colonel 
Ramsay  was  in  the  office  to  see  Mr.  Bassett  this 
afternoon  and  asked  me  to  take  some  dictation 
for  him.  I  guess  it's  about  time  for  me  to  go 
home." 

She  pulled  the  sheet  of  paper  from  the  typewriter 
with  a  sharp  brrrrr  and  dropped  it  into  a  drawer 
with  a  single  deft  twist  of  the  wrist. 

"The  Colonel  did  n't  mention  it  to  me,"  remarked 

(406) 


A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE 

Dan,  feigning  indifference  and  not  looking  at  her. 
"He  was  making  a  speech  at  Terre  Haute  to-night 
when  I  left  there." 

He  tried  to  minimize  the  disagreeable  aspects  of 
the  matter.  Rose  had  been  employed  by  Bassett  as 
stenographer  to  one  of  his  legislative  committees 
before  Dan's  relations  with  the  politician  began. 
Since  Harwood  employed  her  Bassett  had  made  use 
of  her  constantly  in  the  writing  of  letters.  There 
would  have  been  nothing  extraordinary  in  his  calling 
her  to  the  office  for  an  evening's  work;  it  was  the 
girl's  falsehood  about  Ramsay  and  the  quiet  closing 
of  the  door  of  Bassett's  inner  room  that  disturbed 
Harwood.  He  passed  into  the  library  and  Rose 
left  without  saying  good-night.  The  incident  an 
noyed  Dan ;  Bassett's  step  had  been  unmistakable, 
and  the  girl's  confusion  had  its  disagreeable  signi 
ficance.  He  had  not  thought  this  of  Bassett;  it  was 
inconsonant  with  the  character  of  man  he  still  be 
lieved  Morton  Bassett  to  be. 

In  winding  up  the  receivership  of  the  paper  com 
pany  Bassett  had  treated  Harwood  generously.  Dan 
was  out  of  debt;  he  had  added  forty  acres  of  good 
land  to  his  father's  farm,  and  he  kept  a  little  money 
in  bank.  He  had  even  made  a  few  small  investments 
in  local  securities  that  promised  well,  and  his  prac 
tice  had  become  quite  independent  of  Bassett: 
almost  imperceptibly  Bassett  had  ceased  to  be  a  fac 
tor  in  his  prosperity.  The  office  in  the  Boordman 
Building  remained  the  same,  and  Bassett  spent  a 
good  deal  of  time  there.  There  were  days  when  he 
seemed  deeply  preoccupied,  and  he  sometimes  buried 

(407) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

himself  in  his  room  without  obvious  reason;  then 
after  an  interval  he  would  come  out  and  throw  his  leg 
over  a  corner  of  Dan's  desk  and  talk  to  him  with  his 
earlier  frankness.  Once  he  suggested  that  Dan  might 
like  to  leave  the  Boordman  for  a  new  office  building 
that  was  lifting  the  urban  skyline;  but  the  following 
day  he  came  rather  pointedly  to  Dan's  desk,  and 
with  an  embarrassment  he  rarely  showed,  said  that 
of  course  if  Dan  moved  he  should  expect  to  go  with 
him;  he  hoped  Dan  had  understood  that.  A  few 
days  later  he  entrusted  Dan  with  several  commis 
sions  that  he  seemed  to  have  devised  solely  to  show 
his  good  will  and  confidence. 

Harwood  was  happy  these  days.  He  was  still 
young  and  life  had  dealt  kindly  with  him.  Among 
lawyers  he  was  pointed  to  as  a  coming  light  of  the 
bar;  and  in  politics  he  was  the  most  conspicuous 
man  of  his  age  in  the  state.  He  was  invited  to  Har 
rison  County  that  fall  to  deliver  an  address  at  a  re 
union  of  the  veterans  of  his  father's  regiment,  and 
that  had  pleased  him.  He  had  more  than  justified 
the  hopes  of  his  parents  and  brothers,  and  they 
were  very  proud  of  him.  While  they  did  not  under 
stand  his  apostasy  from  the  family's  stern  Repub 
licanism,  this  did  not  greatly  matter  when  Dan's 
name  so  often  came  floating  home  in  the  Indianapolis 
newspapers.  His  mother  kept  careful  track  of  his 
social  enthrallments;  her  son  was  frequently  among 
those  present  at  private  and  public  dinners;  and 
when  the  president  of  Yale  visited  Indiana,  Dan 
spoke  at  the  banquet  given  in  his  honor  by  the 
alumni;  and  not  without  emotion  does  a  woman 

(408) 


A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE 

whose  life  has  been  spent  on  a  humble  farm  find 
that  her  son  has  won  a  place  among  people  of  distinc 
tion  in  a  city  which  is  to  her  the  capital  of  the  Uni 
verse.  There  were  times  when  Dan  wished  to  be  free 
of  Bassett.  He  had  reached  a  point  where  Bassett 
was  not  only  of  little  service  to  him,  but  where  he 
felt  he  was  of  little  use  to  Bassett.  And  it  was  irk 
some  to  find  that  all  the  local  newspapers,  except 
the  "Courier,"  constantly  identified  the  Boordman 
Building  with  Bassett's  political  activities. 

Amid  all  the  agitations  of  the  campaign  Dan  had 
seen  as  much  as  possible  of  Sylvia.  The  settlement  of 
Andrew  Kelton's  estate  gave  him  an  excuse  for  con 
sulting  her  frequently,  but  he  sought  her  frankly 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her.  He  found  that  she  was 
a  good  deal  at  Mrs.  Owen's,  and  it  was  pleasanter 
to  run  in  upon  her  there  than  at  Elizabeth  House, 
where  they  must  needs  share  the  parlor  with  other 
callers.  Often  he  and  Allen  met  at  Mrs.  Owen's  and 
debated  the  questions  that  were  forever  perplexing 
young  Thatcher's  eager  mind,  —  debates  that  Mrs. 
Owen  suffered  to  run  so  far  and  then  terminated  with 
a  keen  observation  that  left  no  more  to  be  said,  send 
ing  them  to  the  pantry  to  forage  for  food  and  drink. 
Thatcher  had  resented  for  a  time  Harwood's  partici 
pation  in  his  humiliation  at  the  convention;  but  his 
ill-feeling  had  not  been  proof  against  Allen's  warm 
defense.  Thatcher's  devotion  to  his  son  had  in  it 
a  kind  of  pathos,  and  it  was  not  in  him  to  vent  his 
spleen  against  his  son's  best  friend. 

A  few  days  after  the  election  Thatcher  invited 
Harwood  to  join  him  and  Allen  in  a  week's  shooting 

(409) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

in  the  Kankakee  where  he  owned  a  house-boat  that 
Allen  had  never  seen. 

" Come  up,  Dan,  and  rest  your  voice.  It's  a  good 
place  to  loaf,  and  we'll  take  John  Ware  along  as  our 
moral  uplifter.  Maybe  we'll  pot  a  few  ducks,  but 
if  we  don't  we'll  get  away  from  our  troubles  for  a 
little  while  anyhow." 

The  house-boat  proved  to  be  commodious  and 
comfortable,  and  the  ducks  scarce  enough  to  make 
the  hunter  earn  his  supper.  I  may  say  in  parenthesis 
that  long  before  Thatcher's  day  many  great  and 
good  Hoosiers  scattered  birdshot  over  the  Kankakee 
marshes — which,  alack !  have  been  drained  to  increase 
Indiana's  total  area  of  arable  soil.  "Lew"  Wallace 
and  other  Hoosier  generals  and  judges  used  to  hunt 
ducks  on  the  Kankakee;  and  Maurice  Thompson 
not  only  camped  there,  but  wrote  a  poem  about  the 
marshes,  —  a  poem  that  is  a  poem,  —  all  about  the 
bittern  and  the  plover  and  the  heron,  which  always, 
at  the  right  season,  called  him  away  from  the  desk 
and  the  town  to  try  his  bow  (he  was  the  last  of  the 
toxophilites!)  on  winged  things  he  scorned  to  de 
stroy  with  gunpowder.  (Oh  what  a  good  fellow  you 
were,  Maurice  Thompson,  and  what  songs  you  wrote 
of  our  lakes  and  rivers  and  feathered  things!  And 
how  I  gloated  over  those  songs  of  fair  weather  in 
old  "Atlantics"  in  my  grandfather's  garret,  before 
they  were  bound  into  that  slim,  long  volume  with 
the  arrow-pierced  heron  on  its  cover!) 

John  Ware,  an  ancient  and  honorable  son  of  the 
tribe  of  Nimrod,  was  the  best  of  comrades.  The 
striking  quality  in  Ware  was  his  beautiful  human- 

(410) 


A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE 

ness,  which  had  given  him  a  peculiar  hold  upon  men. 
Thatcher  was  far  from  being  a  saint,  but,  like  many 
other  cheerful  sinners  in  our  capital,  he  had  gone  to 
church  in  the  days  when  Ware  occupied  the  First 
Congregational  pulpit.  A  good  many  years  had 
passed  since  Ware  had  been  a  captain  of  cavalry, 
chasing  Stuart's  boys  in  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  but 
he  was  still  a  capital  wing  shot.  A  house-boat  is  the 
best  place  in  the  world  for  talk,  and  the  talk  in 
Thatcher's  boat,  around  the  sheet-iron  stove,  was 
good  those  crisp  November  evenings. 

On  Sunday  Ware  tramped  off  to  a  country  church, 
taking  his  companions  with  him.  It  was  too  bad 
to  miss  the  ducks,  he  said,  but  a  day's  peace  in  the 
marshes  gave  them  a  chance  to  accumulate.  That 
evening  he  talked  of  Emerson,  with  whom  he  had 
spoken  face  to  face  in  Concord  in  that  whitest  of 
houses.  We  should  n't  bring  this  into  our  pages  if 
it  had  n't  been  that  Ware's  talk  in  that  connection 
interested  Thatcher  greatly.  And  ordinarily  Thatch 
er  knew  and  cared  less  about  Emerson  than  about 
the  Vedic  Hymns.  Allen  was  serenely  happy  to  be 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  company  of  a  man  who  had 
fought  with  Sheridan,  heard  Phillips  speak,  and 
talked  to  John  Brown  and  Emerson.  When  Ware 
had  described  his  interview  with  the  poet  he  was 
silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  refilled  his  pipe. 

"It's  odd,"  he  continued,  "but  I've  picked  up 
copies  of  Emerson's  books  in  queer  places.  Not  so 
strange  either;  it  seems  the  natural  thing  to  find 
loose  pages  of  his  essays  stuck  around  in  old  logging- 
camps.  I  did  just  that  once,  when  I  was  following 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Thoreau's  trail  through  the  Maine  woods.  Some 
fellow  had  pinned  a  page  of  '  Compensation '  on  the 
door  of  a  cabin  I  struck  one  night  when  it  was 
mighty  good  to  find  shelter,  —  the  pines  singing, 
snowstorm  coming  on.  That  leaf  was  pretty  well 
weather-stained ;  I  carried  it  off  with  me  and  had  it 
framed  —  hangs  in  my  house  now.  Another  time 
I  was  doing  California  on  horseback,  and  in  an 
abandoned  shack  in  the  Sierras  I  found  Emerson's 
'  Poems'  —  an  old  copy  that  somebody  had  thumbed 
a  good  deal.  I  poked  it  out  of  some  rubbish  and  came 
near  making  a  fire  of  it.  Left  it,  though,  for  the  next 
fellow.  I  've  noticed  that  if  one  thing  like  that  hap 
pens  to  you  there's  bound  to  be  another.  Is  that 
superstition,  Thatcher?  I  'm  not  superstitious,  — 
not  particularly,  —  but  we've  all  got  some  of  it  in 
our  hides.  After  that  second  time  —  it  was  away 
back  in  the  seventies,  when  I  was  preaching  for  a 
spell  in  'Frisco  —  I  kept  looking  for  the  third  experi 
ence  that  I  felt  would  come." 

14 Oh,  of  course  it  did  come!"  cried  Allen  eagerly. 

14  Well,  that  third  time  it  was  n't  a  loose  leaf  torn 
out  and  stuck  on  a  plank,  or  just  an  old  weather- 
stained  book;  it  was  a  copy  that  had  been  specially 
bound  —  a  rare  piece  of  work.  I  don't  care  particu 
larly  for  fine  bindings,  but  that  had  been  done  with 
taste,  —  a  dark  green,  —  the  color  you  get  looking 
across  the  top  of  a  pine  wood ;  and  it  seemed  appro 
priate.  Emerson  wrould  have  liked  it  himself." 

The  sheet-iron  stove  had  grown  red  hot  and  Har- 
wood  flung  open  the  door.  The  glow  from  the  fire 
fell  full  upon  the  dark,  rugged  face  and  the  white 


A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE 

hair  of  the  minister,  who  was  sitting  on  a  soap-box 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees.  In  a  gray  flannel  shirt 
he  looked  like  a  lumberman  of  the  North.  An  un 
usual  tenderness  had  stolen  into  his  lean,  Indian- 
like  face. 

"That  was  a  long  while  after  that  ride  in  the 
Sierras.  Let  me  see,  it  was  more  than  twenty  years 
ago,  —  I  can't  just  place  the  year;  no  difference. 
I  'd  gone  up  into  the  Adirondacks  to  see  my  folks. 
I  told  you  about  our  farm  once,  Allen,  —  not  far  from 
John  Brown's  old  place.  It  is  n't  as  lonesome  up 
there  now  as  it  was  when  I  was  a  boy;  there  were 
bully  places  to  hide  up  there;  I  used  to  think  of  that 
when  I  was  reading  Scott  and  Cooper.  Brown  could 
have  hid  there  forever  if  he'd  got  out  of  Virginia 
after  the  raid.  Nowadays  there  are  too  many  hotels, 
and  people  go  canoeing  in  ironed  collars.  No  good. 
My  folks  were  all  gone  even  then,  and  strangers 
lived  in  my  father's  house.  From  the  old  place  I 
moved  along,  walking  and  canoeing  it.  Stopped  on 
Saturday  in  a  settlement  where  there  was  a  church 
that  had  n't  been  preached  in  since  anybody  could 
remember.  Preached  for  'em  on  Sunday.  An  old 
Indian  died,  while  I  was  there,  and  I  baptized  and 
buried  him.  But  that  was  n't  what  kept  me.  There 
was  a  young  woman  staying  at  the  small  boarding- 
house  where  I  stopped  —  place  run  by  a  man  and 
his  wife.  Stranger  had  brought  her  there  early  in 
the  summer.  City  people — they  told  the  folks  they 
came  from  New  York.  They  were  young,  well-ap 
pearing  folks  — at  least  the  girl  was.  The  man  had 
gone  off  and  left  her  there,  and  she  was  going  to 

(413) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

have  a  child  soon  and  was  terribly  ill.  They  called 
me  in  one  day  when  they  thought  the  woman  was 
dying.  The  country  doctor  was  n't  much  good  — 
an  old  fellow  who  did  n't  know  that  anything  par 
ticular  had  happened  in  his  profession  since  Harvey 
discovered  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  I  struck  off 
to  Saranac  and  got  a  city  doctor  to  go  and  look  at 
the  woman.  Nice  chap  he  was,  too.  He  stayed 
there  till  the  woman's  troubles  were  over.  Daughter 
born  and  everything  all  right.  She  never  mentioned 
the  man  who  had  left  her  there.  Would  n't  answer 
the  doctor's  questions  and  did  n't  tell  me  anything 
either.  Strange  business,  just  to  drop  in  on  a  thing 
like  that." 

It  occurred  to  Harwood  that  this  big,  gray,  kindly 
man  had  probably  looked  upon  many  dark  pictures 
in  his  life.  The  minister  appeared  to  be  talking  half 
to  himself,  and  there  had  been  abrupt  pauses  in  his 
characteristically  jerky  recital.  There  was  a  long 
silence  which  he  broke  by  striking  his  hands  to 
gether  abruptly,  and  shaking  his  head. 

"The  man  that  kept  the  boarding-house  was 
scared  for  fear  the  woman  was  n't  straight;  did  n't 
like  the  idea  of  having  a  strange  girl  with  a  baby  left 
on  his  hands.  I  had  to  reason  some  with  that  fellow; 
but  his  wife  was  all  right,  and  did  her  full  duty  by 
the  girl.  She  was  a  mighty  pretty  young  girl,  and 
she  took  her  troubles,  whatever  they  were,  like 
what  you'd  call  a  true  sport,  Ed." 

Thatcher,  stretched  out  on  a  camp  bed  at  the  side 
of  the  room,  chewing  a  cigar,  grunted. 

"Well,"  the  minister  continued,  "I  was  around 


A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE 

there  about  three  weeks ;  put  in  all  my  vacation  there. 
Fact  is  I  hated  to  go  off  and  leave  that  girl  until  I  was 
sure  I  could  n't  do  anything  for  her.  But  she  was 
getting  out  of  the  woods  before  I  left,  and  I  offered 
to  help  her  any  way  I  could.  She  did  n't  seem  to  lack 
for  money;  a  couple  of  letters  with  money  came  for 
her,  but  did  n't  seem  to  cheer  her  much.  There  was 
a  beast  in  the  jungle,  —  no  doubt  of  that,  —  but 
she  was  taking  good  care  to  hide  him.  Did  n't  seem 
to  care  much  about  taking  care  of  herself,  even  when 
she  must  have  known  that  it  looked  bad  for  her. 
She  was  a  flighty,  volatile  sort  of  creature;  made 
a  lot  of  what  I  'd  done  for  her  in  bringing  over  the 
doctor.  That  doctor  was  a  brick,  too.  Lots  of  good 
people  in  the  world,  boys.  Let  me  see;  Dan,  feel  in 
that  shooting-coat  of  mine  on  the  nail  behind  you 
and  you'll  find  the  book  I  started  to  tell  you  about. 
Thanks.  You  see  it's  a  little  banged  up  because 
I  've  carried  it  around  with  me  a  good  deal  —  fishing- 
trips  and  so  on;  but  it's  acquired  tone  since  I  be 
gan  handling  it  —  the  green  in  that  leather  has 
darkened.  'Society  and  Solitude.'  There 's  the  irony 
of  fate  for  you.  — Where  had  I  got  to  ?  When  I  went 
in  to  say  good-bye  we  had  quite  a  talk.  I  thought 
maybe  there  was  some  message  I  could  carry  to  her 
friends  for  her,  but  she  was  game  and  would  n't 
hear  to  it.  She  wanted  the  little  girl  baptized,  but 
said  she  had  n't  decided  what  to  name  her;  asked 
me  if  I  could  baptize  a  baby  without  having  a  real 
name.  She  was  terribly  cut  up  and  cried  about  it.  I 
said  I  guessed  God  Almighty  did  n't  care  much  about 
names,  and  if  she  had  n't  decided  on  one  I  'd  name 

(415) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  baby  myself  and  I  did :  I  named  the  little  girl  — 
and  a  mighty  cute  youngster  she  was,  too  —  I 
named  her  Elizabeth  —  favorite  name  of  mine;  - 
just  the  mother,  lying  there  in  bed,  and  the  man  and 
woman  that  kept  the  boarding-house  in  the  room. 
The  mother  said  she  wanted  to  do  something  for  me; 
and  as  I  was  leaving  her  she  pulled  this  book  out  and 
made  me  take  it." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  a  favorite  book  of  hers  and  all 
that,"  suggested  Dan. 

"I  don't  think  anybody  had  ever  opened  that 
book,"  replied  Ware,  smiling.  "  It  was  brand-new  — 
not  a  scratch  on  it." 

"And  afterward?"  asked  Allen,  anxious  for  the 
rest  of  the  story. 

"Well,  sir,  I  passed  through  there  four  years  after 
ward  and  found  the  same  people  living  in  the  little 
cottage  there  at  that  settlement.  Strange  to  say, 
that  woman  had  stayed  there  a  couple  of  years  after 
the  baby  was  born.  Had  n't  any  place  to  go,  I  reckon. 
Nobody  ever  went  near  her,  they  said;  but  finally 
she  picked  up  and  left;  took  the  baby  with  her.  She 
had  never  been  well  afterward,  and  finally,  seeing 
she  had  n't  long  to  live,  she  struck  out  for  home. 
Wanted  to  die  among  her  own  people,  maybe.  I 
don't  know  the  rest  of  the  story,  Allen.  What  I  've 
told  you  is  all  I  know,  —  it's  like  finding  a  maga 
zine  in  a  country  hotel  where  you  have  n't  anything 
to  read  and  dip  into  the  middle  of  a  serial  story.  I 
never  told  anybody  about  that  but  my  wife.  I  had 
a  feeling  that  if  that  woman  took  such  pains  to  bury 
herself  up  there  in  the  wilderness  it  was  n't  my 


A  HOUSEBOAT  ON  THE  KANKAKEE 

business  to  speak  of  it.  But  it's  long  ago  now  — 
most  everything  that  an  old  chap  like  me  knows  is!" 

Thatcher  rose  and  crossed  to  the  stove  and  took 
the  book.  He  turned  it  over  and  scrutinized  it  care 
fully,  scanned  the  blank  pages  and  the  silk-faced 
lids  in  the  glow  from  the  stove,  and  then  handed  it 
to  Allen. 

"  What  does  that  say  there,  that  small  gold  print 
on  the  inside  of  the  cover?" 

"That's  the  binder's  name  —  Z.  Fenelsa." 

Allen  closed  the  book,  passed  his  hand  over  the 
smooth  covers,  and  handed  it  back  to  Ware. 

"What  did  you  say  the  woman's  name  was, 
Ware?"  asked  Thatcher. 

11  Did  n't  say,  but  the  name  she  went  by  up  there 
was  Forbes.  She  told  me  it  was  an  assumed  name. 
The  people  she  stayed  with  told  me  they  never 
knew  any  better." 

Several  minutes  passed  in  which  no  one  spoke. 
The  minister  lapsed  into  one  of  his  deep  reveries. 
Thatcher  stood  just  behind  him  peering  into  the 
fire.  Suddenly  he  muttered  under  his  breath  and 
almost  inaudibly,  "Well,  by  God!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

THE  Bassetts  moved  to  the  capital  that 
winter,  arriving  with  the  phalanx  of  legis 
lators  in  January,  and  establishing  them 
selves  in  a  furnished  house  opportunely  vacated  by 
the  Bosworths,  who  were  taking  the  Mediterra 
nean  trip.  Bassett  had  been  careful  to  announce  to 
the  people  of  Fraserville  that  the  removal  was  only 
temporary,  and  that  he  and  his  family  would  return 
in  the  spring,  but  Marian  held  private  opinions  quite 
at  variance  with  her  father's  published  statements. 
Mrs.  Bassett's  acquiescence  had  been  due  to  Mrs. 
Owen's  surprising  support  of  Marian's  plan.  In  de 
claring  that  she  would  never,  never  consent  to  live 
in  a  flat,  Mrs.  Bassett  had  hoped  to  dispose  of  Ma 
rian's  importunities,  to  which  Bassett  had  latterly 
lent  mild  approval.  When,  however,  Mrs.  Owen  sug 
gested  the  Bosworth  house,  which  could  be  occupied 
with  the  minimum  of  domestic  vexation,  Mrs.  Bas 
sett  promptly  consented,  feeling  that  her  aunt's 
interest  might  conceal  a  desire  in  the  old  lady's  breast 
to  have  some  of  her  kinsfolk  near  her.  Mrs.  Bassett 
had  not  allowed  her  husband  to  forget  the  dangerous 
juxtaposition  of  Sylvia  Garrison  to  Mrs.  Owen's 
check- book.  "That  girl,"  as  Mrs.  Bassett  designated 
Sylvia  in  private  conversation  with  her  husband,  had 


A  WASHINGTON'S   BIRTHDAY  BALL 

been  planted  in  Elizabeth  House  for  a  purpose.  Her 
relief  that  Sylvia  had  not  been  settled  in  the  Dela 
ware  Street  residence  had  been  of  short  duration: 
Mrs.  Bassett  saw  now  that  it  was  only  the  girl's 
adroit  method  of  impressing  upon  Mrs.  Owen  her 
humility  and  altruism.  Still  Mrs.  Bassett  was  not 
wholly  unhappy.  It  was  something  to  be  near  at  hand 
where  she  could  keep  track  of  Sylvia's  movements; 
and  the  social  scene  at  the  capital  was  not  without 
its  interest  for  her.  She  was  not  merely  the  wife  of 
Morton  Bassett,  but  the  only  child  of  the  late  Black- 
ford  Singleton,  sometime  Senator  in  Congress.  She 
was  moreover  the  niece  of  Sally  Owen,  and  this  in 
itself  was  a  social  asset.  She  showed  her  husband 
the  cards  that  were  left  at  their  door,  and  called  his 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  representative  people 
of  the  capital  were  looking  them  up.  He  made  the 
mistake  of  suggesting  that  the  husbands  of  most  of 
the  women  who  had  called  had  axes  to  grind  at  the 
State  House,  —  a  suggestion  intended  to  be  humor 
ous;  but  she  answered  that  many  of  her  callers  were 
old  friends  of  the  Singletons,  and  she  expressed  the 
hope  that  he  would  so  conduct  himself  as  to  adorn 
less  frequently  the  newspaper  headlines;  the  broad 
advertisement  of  his  iniquities  would  be  so  much 
worse  now  that  they  were  in  the  city,  and  with 
Marian's  future  to  consider,  and  all. 

It  should  be  said  that  Marian's  arrival  had  not 
gone  unheeded.  The  society  columns  of  the  capital 
welcomed  her,  and  the  "Advertiser"  reproduced  her 
photograph  in  a  picture  hat.  She  began  at  once  to 
be  among  those  included  in  all  manner  of  functions. 

(419) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Allen  danced  cheerfully  to  her  piping  and  she  still 
telephoned  to  Harwood  when  she  thought  of  ways 
of  using  him.  Mrs.  Owen  had  declared  her  inten 
tion  of  giving  a  "party"  to  introduce  Marian  to  the 
society  of  the  capital.  Sally  Owen  had  not  given  a 
"party"  since  Mrs.  Bassett's  coming  out,  but  she 
brought  the  same  energy  and  thoroughness  to  bear 
upon  a  social  affair  that  characterized  her  business 
undertakings.  In  preparing  the  list  (in  itself  a  task) 
and  in  the  discussion  of  details,  it  was  necessary  of 
course  to  consult  Marian,  —  one  usually  heard  Mar 
ian's  views  whether  one  consulted  her  or  not,  —  but 
she  and  her  aunt  were  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  Mrs. 
Owen  was  sincerely  anxious  to  satisfy  her  in  every 
particular.  On  half  a  dozen  evenings  Allen  or  Dan 
brought  Sylvia  to  the  Delaware  Street  house  to  meet 
Marian  and  plan  the  coming  event.  No  one  would 
have  imagined,  from  the  zest  with  which  Sylvia 
discussed  such  deep  questions  as  the  employment 
of  musicians,  the  decorating  of  the  hall,  the  ger- 
man  favors  and  the  refreshments,  that  she  had  been 
at  work  all  day  in  a  schoolroom  that  had  been  built 
before  ventilation  was  invented. 

When  Sylvia  was  busy,  she  was  the  busiest  of 
mortals,  but  when  she  threw  herself  heart  and  soul 
into  play,  it  was  with  the  completest  detachment. 
She  accomplished  wonderful  things  in  the  way  of 
work  after  schoolhours  if  she  received  warning  that 
either  of  her  faithful  knights  meditated  a  descent 
upon  her.  During  these  councils  of  war  to  plan  Mar 
ian's  belated  debut,  Sylvia  might  snowball  Allen 
or  Dan  or  both  of  them  all  the  way  from  Elizabeth 

(420) 


A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

House  to  Mrs.  Owen's  door,  and  then  appear  de 
murely  before  that  amiable  soul,  with  cheeks  aglow 
and  dark  eyes  flashing,  and  Mrs.  Owen  would  say: 
"This  school-teaching  ain't  good  for  you,  Sylvia;  it 
seems  to  be  breaking  down  your  health."  That  was 
a  lively  quartette — Sylvia,  Marian,  Allen,  and  Dan! 
Dan,  now  duly  sworn  to  serve  the  state  faithfully 
as  a  legislator,  had  been  placed  on  several  import 
ant  committees,  and  a  busy  winter  stretched  before 
him.  Morton  Bassett's  hand  lay  heavily  upon  the 
legislature;  the  young  man  had  never  realized  until 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  lower  house  how  firmly 
Bassett  gripped  the  commonwealth.  Every  com 
mittee  appointment  in  both  houses  had  to  be  ap 
proved  by  the  senator  from  Eraser.  Dan's  selec 
tion  as  chairman  of  the  committee  on  corpora 
tions  both  pleased  and  annoyed  him.  He  would 
have  liked  to  believe  himself  honestly  chosen  by  the 
speaker  on  the  score  of  fitness;  but  he  knew  well 
enough  that  there  were  older  men,  veteran  legisla 
tors,  more  familiar  with  the  state's  needs  and 
dangers,  who  had  a  better  right  to  the  honor.  The 
watchful  "Advertiser"  had  not  overlooked  his  ap 
pointment.  On  the  day  the  committees  were  an 
nounced  it  laid  before  its  readers  a  cartoon  de 
picting  Bassett,  seated  at  his  desk  in  the  senate, 
clutching  wires  that  radiated  to  every  seat  in  the 
lower  house.  One  desk  set  forth  conspicuously  in  the 
foreground  was  inscribed  "D.  H."  "The  Lion  and 
Daniel"  was  the  tag  affixed  to  this  cartoon,  which 
caused  much  merriment  among  Dan's  friends  at  the 
round  table  of  the  University  Club. 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Miss  Bassett's  debut  was  fixed  for  Washington's 
Birthday,  and  as  Mrs.  Owen's  house  had  no  ball 
room  (except  one  of  those  floored  attics  on  which 
our  people  persist  in  bestowing  that  ambitious  title) 
she  decided  that  the  Propylaeum  alone  would  serve. 
Pray  do  not  reach  for  your  dictionary,  my  friend! 
No  matter  how  much  Greek  may  have  survived  your 
commencement  day,  you  would  never  know  that 
our  Propylaeum  (reared  by  the  women  of  our  town  in 
North  Street,  facing  the  pillared  facade  of  the  Blind 
Institute)  became,  on  its  completion  in  1890,  the 
centre  of  our  intellectual  and  social  life.  The  club 
"papers"  read  under  that  roof  constitute  a  litera 
ture  all  the  nobler  for  the  discretion  that  reserves  it 
for  atrabilious  local  criticism;  the  later  editions  of 
our  jeunesse  doree  have  danced  there  and  Boxed  and 
Coxed  as  Dramatic  Club  stars  on  its  stage.  "  Billy" 
Sumner  once  lectured  there  on  "War"  before  the 
Contemporary  Club,  to  say  nothing  of  Mr.  James's 
appearance  (hereinbefore  mentioned),  which  left  us, 
filled  with  wildest  surmise,  on  the  crest  of  a  new  and 
ultimate  Darien.  Nor  shall  I  omit  that  memorable 
tea  to  the  Chinese  lady  when  the  press  became  so 
great  that  a  number  of  timorous  Occidentals  in  their 
best  bib  and  tucker  departed  with  all  possible  dig 
nity  by  way  of  the  fire-escape.  So  the  place  being 
historic,  as  things  go  in  a  new  country,  Mrs.  Owen 
did  not,  in  vulgar  parlance,  "hire  a  hall,"  but  gave 
her  party  in  a  social  temple  of  loftiest  consecration. 

It  was  a  real  winter  night,  with  a  snowstorm  and 
the  jangle  of  sleigh-bells  outside.  The  possibilities 
>of  a  hall  famed  for  its  many  brilliant  entertainments 

(422) 


A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

had  never  been  more  fully  realized  than  on  this  night 
of  Marian  Bassett's  presentation.  The  stage  was 
screened  in  a  rose-hung  lattice  that  had  denuded 
the  conservatories  of  Newcastle  and  Richmond ;  the 
fireplace  was  a  bank  of  roses,  and  the  walls  were 
festooned  in  evergreens.  Nor  should  we  overlook  a 
profile  of  the  father  of  his  country  in  white  carnations 
on  a  green  background,  with  all  the  effect  of  a 
marble  bas-relief,  —  a  fitting  embellishment  for  the 
balcony,  —  done  by  the  florist  from  Allen's  design 
and  under  Allen's  critical  eye. 

In  the  receiving  line,  established  in  one  of  the 
lower  parlors,  were  Mrs.  Owen,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mor 
ton  Bassett,  the  Governor  and  his  wife  (he  happened 
just  then  to  be  a  Republican),  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Vinning  (retired  army  people),  and  the  pick  of  the 
last  October's  brides  and  their  young  husbands.  We 
may  only  glance  hurriedly  at  the  throng  who  shook 
Mrs.  Owen's  hand,  and  were  presented  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bassett  and  by  them  in  turn  to  their  daughter. 
Every  one  remarked  how  stunning  the  hostess  looked 
(her  gown  was  white,  and  in  the  latest  fashion,  too, 
—  none  of  your  quaint  old  lace  and  lavender  for 
Aunt  Sally!),  and  what  amusing  things  she  said  to 
her  guests  as  they  filed  by,  knowing  them  all  and  in 
her  great  good  heart  loving  them  all !  It  is  something 
to  be  an  Aunt  Sally  where  the  name  is  a  synonym 
for  perpetual  youth  and  perpetual  kindness  and 
helpfulness.  (And  if  Aunt  Sally  did  n't  live  just  a 
little  way  down  my  own  street,  and  if  she  had  n't 
bribed  me  not  to  "put  her  in  a  book"  with  a  gift  of 
home-cured  hams  from  her  Greene  County  farm 

(4?3) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

last  Christmas,  there  are  many  more  things  I  should 
like  to  say  of  her !) 

Since  the  little  affair  of  the  "Courier"  Morton 
Bassett  had  fought  shy  of  his  wife's  aunt;  but  to 
night  he  stood  beside  her,  enjoying,  let  us  hope,  the 
grim  humor  of  his  juxtaposition  to  the  only  person 
who  had  ever  blocked  any  of  his  enterprises.  No 
thing  escaped  Mrs.  Bassett,  and  her  heart  softened 
toward  her  politician  husband  as  she  saw  that  next 
to  her  aunt  and  Marian  (a  daughter  to  be  proud  of 
to-night!)  Morton  Bassett  was  the  person  most  ob 
served  of  all  observers.  She  noted  the  glances  bent 
upon  him  by  the  strangers  to  whom  he  was  intro 
duced,  and  many  acquaintances  were  at  pains  to 
recall  themselves  to  him.  Her  husband  was  a  pre 
sentable  man  anywhere,  and  she  resolved  to  deal 
more  leniently  with  his  offenses  in  future.  The 
governorship  or  a  seat  in  the  United  States  Senate 
would  amply  repay  her  for  the  heartaches  so  often 
communicated  by  the  clipping  bureau. 

Mrs.  Bassett  prided  herself  on  knowing  who's 
who  in  her  native  state  and  even  she  was  satisfied 
that  the  gathering  was  representative.  The  "list" 
had  not  been  submitted  for  her  approval;  if  it  had 
been  she  might  have  deleted  certain  names  and  sub 
stituted  others.  She  was  unable,  for  example,  to 
justify  the  presence  of  the  senior  Thatcher,  though 
her  husband  assured  her  in  a  tone  of  magnanimity 
that  it  was  all  right;  and  she  had  never  admired 
Colonel  Ramsay,  though  to  be  sure  nearly  every 
one  else  did.  Was  not  the  Colonel  handsome, 
courteous,  genial,  eloquent,  worthy  of  all  admira- 

(424) 


A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

tion?  Mrs.  Owen  had  chosen  a  few  legislators  from 
among  her  acquaintances,  chiefly  gentlemen  who 
had  gallantly  aided  some  of  her  measures  at  earlier 
sessions  of  the  assembly.  This  accounted  for  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  lone  Prohibitionist  who  by  some  mir 
acle  appeared  biennially  in  the  lower  house,  and  for 
a  prominent  labor  leader  whom  Mrs.  Owen  liked  on 
general  principles.  The  statesman  who  has  already 
loomed  darkly  in  these  pages  as  the  Tallest  Delegate 
was  taller  than  ever  in  a  dress  coat,  but  in  all  ways 
a  citizen  of  whom  Vermillion  County  had  reason  to 
be  proud.  John  Ware  and  Admiral  Martin,  finding 
themselves  uncomfortable  in  the  crowd,  rescued 
Thatcher  and  adjourned  with  him  to  a  room  set 
apart  for  smokers.  There  they  were  regarded  with 
mild  condescension  by  young  gentlemen  who  rushed 
in  from  the  dance,  mopping  their  brows  and  inhal 
ing  cigarettes  for  a  moment,  wearing  the  melancholy 
air  becoming  to  those  who  support  the  pillars  of 
society. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  receiving  line  had  dissolved  and 
the  dance  was  in  full  swing  above.  Sylvia  had  volun 
teered  to  act  as  Mrs.  Owen's  adjutant,  and  she  was 
up  and  down  stairs  many  times  looking  after  count 
less  details.  She  had  just  dispatched  Allen  to  find 
partners  for  some  out-of-town  girls  when  Morton 
Bassett  accosted  her  in  the  hall. 

11 1  'm  thirsty,  Miss  Garrison;  which  punch  bowl 
do  you  recommend  to  a  man  of  my  temperate 
habits?" 

She  turned  to  the  table  and  took  a  glass  from 
Mrs.  Owen's  butler  and  held  it  up. 

(425) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"The  only  difference  between  the  two  is  that  one 
is  pink.  I  put  it  in  myself.  Your  health  and  long 
life  to  Marian,"  said  Sylvia. 

"I'm  going  to  take  this  chance  to  thank  you  for 
your  kind  interest  in  Marian's  party.  We  all  appre 
ciate  it.  Even  if  you  did  n't  do  it  for  us  but  for  Mrs. 
Owen,  we're  just  as  grateful.  There  's  a  lot  of  work 
in  carrying  off  an  affair  like  this." 

He  seemed  in  no  hurry  and  apparently  wished  to 
prolong  the  talk.  They  withdrew  out  of  the  current 
of  people  passing  up  and  down  the  stairway. 

"You  are  not  dancing?"  he  asked. 

"No;  I 'm  not  here  socially,  so  to  speak.  I'm  not 
going  out,  you  know;  I  only  wanted  to  help  Mrs. 
Owen  a  little." 

"Pardon  me;  I  had  n't  really  forgotten.  You  are 
a  busy  person;  Marian  tells  me  you  have  begun 
your  teaching.  You  don't  show  any  evidences  of 


wear." 


"Oh,  I  never  was  so  well  in  my  life!" 
"You  will  pardon  me  for  mentioning  it  here,  but 
—  but  I  was  sorry  to  hear  from  Mr.  Harwood  that 
the  teaching  is  necessary." 

He  was  quite  right,  she  thought,  in  saying  that 
the  time  and  place  were  ill-suited  to  such  a  remark. 
He  leaned  against  the  wall  and  she  noticed  that  his 
lids  drooped  wearily.  He  seemed  content  to  linger 
there,  where  they  caught  fitfully  glimpses  of  Marian's 
bright,  happy  face  in  the  dance.  Mrs.  Owen  and 
Mrs.  Bassett  were  sitting  in  a  group  of  dowagers  at 
the  other  end  of  the  ballroom,  identifying  and  com 
menting  upon  the  season's  debutantes. 

(426) 


A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

"I  suppose  you  are  very  busy  now,"  Sylvia  re 
marked. 

"Yes;  this  will  be  a  busy  session. " 

"And  I  suppose  you  have  more  to  do  than  the 
others;  it's  the  penalty  of  leadership." 

He  flushed  at  the  compliment,  changed  his  posi 
tion  slightly,  and  avoided  her  eyes  for  a  moment. 
She  detected  in  him  to-night  something  that  had  es 
caped  her  before.  It  might  not  be  weariness  after 
all  that  prompted  him  to  lean  against  the  wall  with 
one  hand  carelessly  thrust  into  his  pocket;  he  was 
not  a  man  to  show  physical  weariness.  It  seemed, 
rather,  a  stolid  indifference  either  to  the  immediate 
scene  or  to  more  serious  matters.  Their  meeting  had 
seemed  accidental ;  she  could  not  believe  he  had  con 
trived  it.  If  the  dance  bored  him  she  was  by  no 
means  his  only  refuge;  many  present  would  have 
thought  themselves  highly  favored  by  a  word  from 
him.  A  messenger  brought  Sylvia  a  question  from 
Mrs.  Owen.  In  turning  away  to  answer  she  gave  him 
a  chance  to  escape,  but  he  waited,  and  when  she  was 
free  again  she  felt  that  he  had  been  watching  her. 

He  smiled,  and  stood  erect  as  though  impelled  by 
an  agreeable  thought. 

"We  don't  meet  very  often,  Miss  Garrison,  and 
this  is  hardly  the  place  for  long  conversations;  you 
're  busy,  too;  but  I'd  like  to  ask  you  something." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Bassett!" 

The  newest  two-step  struck  up  and  she  swung  her 
head  for  a  moment  in  time  to  it  and  looked  out  upon 
the  swaying  forms  of  the  dancers. 

"That's  Marian's  favorite,"  she  said. 

(427) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"That  afternoon,  after  the  convention,  you  re 
member  — 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Bassett;  I  remember  perfectly." 

"You  laughed!" 

They  both  smiled;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
now,  as  then,  it  was  a  smile  of  understanding,  a 
curious  reciprocal  exchange  that  sufficed  without 
elucidation  in  words. 

"Well!"  said  Sylvia. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  just  why  you 
laughed?" 

"Oh!  That  would  be  telling  a  lot  of  things." 

Any  one  seeing  them  might  have  thought  that 
this  middle-aged  gentleman  was  taking  advantage 
of  an  opportunity  to  bask  in  the  smile  of  a  pretty 
girl  for  the  sheer  pleasure  of  her  company.  He  was 
purposely  detaining  her,  but  whether  from  a  wish 
to  amuse  himself  or  to  mark  his  indifference  to  what 
went  on  around  him  she  did  not  fathom.  The  fact 
was  that  Sylvia  had  wondered  herself  a  good  deal 
about  that  interview  in  Mrs.  Owen's  house,  and  she 
was  not  quite  sure  why  she  had  laughed. 

"I'd  really  like  to  know,  Miss  Garrison.  If  I 
knew  why  you  laughed  at  me  — " 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  laugh  at  you!  At  least  —  it  was  n't 
just  you  alone  I  was  laughing  at!" 

"Not  at  me?" 

His  look  of  indifference  vanished  wholly;  he 
seemed  sincerely  interested  as  he  waited  for  her 
reply,  delayed  a  moment  by  the  passing  of  a  group 
of  youngsters  from  the  ballroom  to  the  fresher  air 
of  the  hall. 

(428) 


A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

11 1  know  perfectly  well  this  is  n't  a  good  place  to 
be  serious  in ;  but  I  laughed  —  Do  you  really  want 
to  know?" 

"Yes,  please.  Don't  try  to  spare  my  feelings; 
they're  pretty  badly  shot  up  anyhow." 

"It  must  have  been  because  it  struck  me  as  funny 
that  a  man  like  you  —  with  all  your  influence  and 
power  —  your  capacity  for  doing  big  things  — 
should  go  to  so  much  trouble  merely  to  show  an 
other  man  your  contempt  for  him.  Just  a  moment" 

—  she  deliberated  an  instant,  lifting  her  head  a  trifle, 

—  "it  was  funny,  just  as  it  would  be  funny  if  the 
United  States  went  to  war  to  crush  a  petty,  ignorant 
pauper  power;  or  it  would  be  like  using  the  biggest 
pile  driver  to  smash  a  mosquito.   It  was  ridiculous 
just  because  it  seemed  so  unnecessarily  elaborate  — 
such  a  waste  of  steam." 

She  had  spoken  earnestly  and  quickly,  but  he 
laughed  to  assure  her  that  he  was  not  offended. 

"So  that  was  it,  was  it?" 

"I  think  so;  something  like  that.  And  you 
laughed  too  that  day!" 

"Yes;  why  did  I  laugh?"  he  demanded. 

"Because  you  knew  it  was  grotesque,  and  not  to 
be  taken  at  all  seriously  as  people  did  take  it.  And 
then,  maybe  —  maybe  I  thought  it  funny  that  you 
should  have  employed  Mr.  Harwood  to  pull  the  lever 
that  sent  the  big  hammer  smashing  down  on  the 
insect." 

"So  that  was  it!  Well,  maybe  it  wasn't  so  un 
necessary  after  all ;  to  be  frank,  I  did  n't  think  so.  In 
my  conceit  I  thought  it  a  good  stroke.  That's  a 

(429) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

secret;  nobody  else  knows  that!  Why  should  n't  I 
have  used  Mr.  Harwood  —  assuming  that  I  did  use 
him?" 

"Can  you  stand  any  more?  Shan't  we  talk  of 
something  else?" 

Their  colloquy  had  been  longer  than  Sylvia  found 
comfortable:  every  one  knew  Bassett;  every  one  did 
not  know  her.  She  was  a  comparative  stranger  in 
the  city,  and  it  was  not  wholly  kind  in  him  to  make 
her  conspicuous;  yet  he  seemed  oblivious  to  his  sur 
roundings. 

u  You  cast  an  excellent  actor  for  an  unworthy  part, 
that 'sail." 

"I  was  debasing  him?  Is  that  what  you  think?" 
he  persisted. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  steadily,  meeting  his  eyes. 

"You  like  him;  you  believe  in  him?" 

"He  has  ability,"  she  answered  guardedly. 

"Then  I  've  done  nothing  to  thwart  him  in  the  use 
of  it.  He's  the  best  advertised  young  man  in  the 
state  in  either  political  party.  He's  in  a  place  now 
where  he  can  make  good." 

His  smile  was  grave;  it  was  impossible  to  answer 
him  in  the  key  of  social  small  talk. 

"The  'Advertiser'  seems  to  think  that  he's  in  the 
legislature  to  do  what  you  tell  him  to." 

"He  does  n't  have  to  do  it,  does  he?  He  owes  me 
nothing  —  absolutely  nothing.  He  can  kick  me 
down  stairs  to-morrow  if  he  wants  to.  It  was  under 
stood  when  he  came  into  my  office  that  he  should  be 
free  to  quit  me  whenever  he  liked.  I  'd  like  you  to 
know  that." 

(430) 


A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

She  was  embarrassed  by  the  direct  look  that 
accompanied  this.  Her  opinions  could  not  interest 
him  one  way  or  another,  and  he  was  going  far  in 
assuming  that  she  was  deeply  concerned  in  Har- 
wood's  welfare.  The  incongruity  of  their  talk  was 
emphasized  by  the  languorous  strains  of  the  newest 
popular  waltz  that  floated  over  them  from  the  ball 
room. 

"If  it  were  any  of  my  affair  —  which  it  certainly 
is  n't  —  I  should  tell  him  to  stand  by  you  —  to  say 
no  to  you  if  need  be  and  yet  remain  your  friend." 

"You  think,  then,  that  I  am  not  beyond  reclama 
tion  —  that  I  might  be  saved  —  pulled  out  of  the 
mire?" 

"No  man  is  beyond  reclamation,  is  he?  I  think 
not;  I  believe  not." 

The  music  ceased ;  the  dancers  were  demanding  a 
repetition  of  the  number.  Bassett  stood  his  ground 
stubbornly. 

"Well,  I  Ve  asked  him  to  do  something  for  me  — 
the.  only  thing  I  have  ever  asked  him  to  do  that 
was  n't  straight." 

There  was  no  evading  this;  she  wondered  whether 
he  had  deliberately  planned  this  talk,  and  what  it 
was  leading  to.  In  any  view  it  was  inexplicable.  His 
brow  knit  and  there  was  a  curious  gravity  in  his  eyes 
as  they  sought  hers  searchingly. 

"That's  his  affair  entirely,  Mr.  Bassett,"  she  re- 
piled  coldly.  "He  and  I  are  good  friends,  and  of 
course  I  should  hate  to  see  him  make  a  mistake." 

"But  the  mistake  may  be  mine;  let  us  say  that  it 


is  mine." 


(431) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"I  had  an  idea  that  you  did  n't  make  mistakes. 
Why  should  you  make  the  serious  mistake  of  asking 
a  good  man  to  do  a  bad  thing?" 

"The  natural  inference  would  be  that  I'm  a  bad 
man,  would  n't  it?  " 

"  It  would  n't  be  my  way  of  looking  at  it.  All  you 
need  is  courage  to  be  a  great  man  —  you  can  go 
far!" 

He  smiled  grimly. 

"I  need  only  one  thing,  you  say;  —  but  what  if 
it's  the  thing  I  have  n't  got?" 

"Get  it!"  she  replied  lightly.  "But  your  defiance 
in  the  convention  was  n't  worthy  of  you;  it  was  only 
a  piece  of  bravado.  You  don't  deserve  to  be  abused 
for  that,  —  just  scolded  a  little.  That's  why  I 
laughed  at  you  that  afternoon;  I'm  going  to  laugh 
at  you  now!" 

The  music  had  ceased  again  and  Allen  and  Marian 
flashed  out  upon  them  in  the  highest  spirits. 

"Well,  I  like  this!"  cried  Marian.  "What  are  you 
two  talking  so  long  about?  Oh,  I  saw  you  through 
three  dances  at  least!" 

"Miss  Garrison  has  been  laughing  at  me,"  said 
Bassett,  smiling  at  his  daughter.  "She  does  n't  take 
me  at  all  seriously  —  or  too  seriously:  I  don't  know 
which!" 

"How  could  she  take  you  seriously!"  demanded 
Marian.  "  I  never  do!  Sylvia,  where  on  earth  is  our 
little  Daniel?  It's  nearly  time  for  the  cotillion.  And 
if  Dan  Harwood  does  n't  show  up  for  that  I  '11  never 
forgive  him  in  this  world." 

"The  cotillion?"  repeated  Bassett,  glancing  at  his 

(432) 


A  WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY  BALL 

watch.  "Has  n't  Dan  got  here  yet?  He  had  a  com 
mittee  meeting  to-night,  but  it  ought  to  have  been 
over  before  now." 

Sylvia  noted  that  the  serious  look  came  into  his 
eyes  again  for  an  instant. 

"  He  ought  n't  to  have  had  a  committe  meeting  on 
the  night  of  my  party.  And  it's  a  holiday  too." 

"And  after  all  the  rehearsing  we've  done  at  Aunt 
Sally's  the  cherry-tree  figure  absolutely  has  to  have 
him,"  said  Allen.  "Maybe  I'd  better  send  a  scout 
to  look  him  up  or  run  over  to  the  State  House  my 
self." 

"Oh,  he'll  be  here,"  murmured  Sylvia. 

Dan  had  undoubtedly  intended  to  appear  early  at 
the  dance,  and  she  wondered  whether  his  delay 
might  not  be  due  to  the  crisis  in  his  relations  with 
Bassett  of  which  the  politician  had  hinted.  As  she 
ran  off  with  Allen  to  make  sure  the  apparatus  for  the 
german  was  in  order,  she  wished  Bassett  had  not 
spoken  to  her  of  Harwood. 

Sylvia  and  Allen  had  despaired  of  Dan  when  at 
a  quarter  of  twelve  he  appeared.  He  met  their  re 
proaches  cheerfully,  and  airily  explained  his  delay. 

"State's  business!  Can  you  imagine  me  fresh 
from  Richelieu's  cabinet,  with  a  trail  of  dead  horses 
on  the  road  behind  me?  In  plain  prose  I  did  n't  get 
home  to  dress  until  eleven,  and  the  snow  makes  it 
hard  going." 

He  had  dressed  with  care  nevertheless  and  had 
never  looked  better.  Sylvia  sent  Allen  ahead  to 
begin  clearing  the  floor  for  the  cotillion,  and  followed 
more  slowly  with  Harwood. 

(433) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"I  suppose/'  he  remarked,  half  to  himself,  "that 
I  really  ought  n't  to  do  it." 

"What  —  you  hesitate  now  after  keeping  the 
stage  waiting!" 

"It  may  be  a  case  for  an  understudy.  There  are 
reasons  why." 

"Then  —  you  have  done  it?" 

They  were  at  the  turn  of  the  stair  and  Sylvia 
paused.  He  was  conscious  of  a  quick  catch  in  her 
breath.  Her  eyes  met  his  for  an  instant  searchingly. 

"Yes;  I  have  done  it,"  he  answered,  and  looked  at 
her  wonderingly. 

A  moment  later  he  had  made  his  peace  with  Mrs. 
Owen  and  paid  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  Bassett  at 
the  favor  table,  heaped  high  with  beribboned 
hatchets  and  bunches  of  cherries  for  the  first  figure. 

Morton  Bassett  had  heard  praise  of  his  daughter 
from  many  lips,  but  he  watched  her  joyous  course 
through  the  cherry-tree  figure  in  the  german  with 
an  attention  that  was  not  wholly  attributable  to 
fatherly  pride.  Harwood's  white-gloved  hand  led 
her  hither  and  thither  through  the  intricate  maze; 
one  must  have  been  sadly  lacking  in  the  pictorial 
sense  not  to  have  experienced  a  thrill  of  delight  in  a 
scene  so  animate  with  grace,  so  touched  with  color. 
It  was  ungracious  to  question  the  sincerity  of  those 
who  pronounced  Marian  the  belle  of  the  ball  when 
Colonel  Ramsay,  the  supreme  authority  in  Hoosier 
pulchritude,  declared  her  to  be  the  fairest  rose  in  a 
rose-garden  of  girls.  He  said  the  same  thing  to  the 
adoring  parents  of  a  dozen  other  girls  that  night. 
(The  Colonel  was  born  in  Tecumseh  County,  on  our 

(434) 


A  WASHINGTON'S   BIRTHDAY  BALL 

side  of  the  Ohio,  and  just  plays  at  being  a  Kentuck- 
ian!)  Mothers  of  daughters,  watching  the  dance 
with  a  jealous  eye  on  their  own  offspring,  whispered 
among  themselves  that  as  likely  as  not  Marian's 
tall,  broad-shouldered  cavalier  was  the  man  chosen 
of  all  time  to  be  her  husband.  He  was  her  father's 
confidential  man,  and  nothing  could  stay  his  upward 
course. 

Bassett  saw  it  all  and  guessed  what  they  were 
thinking.  Sylvia  flashed  across  his  vision  now  and 
then.  He  overheard  people  asking  who  she  was,  and 
he  caught  the  answers,  that  she  was  a  girl  Mrs.  Owen 
had  taken  up;  a  public  school-teacher,  they  believed, 
the  daughter  of  an  old  friend.  Sylvia,  quite  uncon 
scious  of  this  interest,  saw  that  the  figures  she  had 
done  so  much  toward  planning  were  enacted  with 
out  a  hitch.  The  last  one,  the  Pergola,  with  real 
roses,  if  you  must  know,  well  deserved  Colonel 
Ramsay's  compliment.  "You  can't  tell,"  said  the 
Colonel  in  his  best  manner,  "where  the  roses  end 
and  the  girls  begin!  " 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  Harwood,  after  taking 
Mrs.  Owen  down  to  supper,  found  himself  free.  He 
met  Thatcher  in  the  lower  hall,  muffled  in  astrakhan 
and  swearing  softly  to  himself  because  his  carnage 
had  been  lost  in  the  blizzard. 

"Well;  how  are  things  going  with  you,  young 
man?" 

"Right  enough.  I'm  tired  and  it's  about  bed 
time  for  me." 

"Haven't  got  House  Bill  Ninety-five  in  your 
pocket,  have  you?"  asked  Thatcher  with  a  grin. 

(435) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"A  reporter  for  the  'Advertiser'  was  in  here  looking 
for  you  a  minute  ago.  He  said  your  committee  had 
taken  a  vote  to-night  and  he  wanted  to  know  about 
it.  Told  him  you  'd  gone  home.  Hope  you  appreci 
ate  that;  I'm  used  to  lying  to  reporters.  You  see, 
my  son,  I  ain't  in  that  deal.  You  understand? 
That  bill  was  fixed  up  in  Chicago,  and  every  corpo 
ration  lawyer  that  does  business  in  the  old  Hoosier 
State  has  his  eye  on  it.  I  'm  not  asking  any  ques 
tions;  Lord,  no!  It's  up  to  you.  Grand  party;  that's 
a  nice  girl  of  Bassett's.  My  wagon  here?  All  right. 
Good-night,  Dan!  Good-night,  Bassett!" 

Harwood  turned  and  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Bassett,  who  was  loitering  aimlessly  about  the 
hall. 

"Good-evening,  sir,"  he  said,  and  they  shook 
hands  mechanically. 

" How  are  you?    Party  about  over? " 

"I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  to-night,  Mr.  Bas 
sett.  It  need  take  but  a  minute." 

"Better  now,  if  it's  important,"  replied  Bassett 
carelessly. 

"We  voted  on  House  Bill  Ninety-five  in  commit 
tee  to-night:  the  majority  report  will  be  against  it." 

"So?   What  was  the  matter  with  it?" 

"It's  crooked,  that's  all.  I  wouldn't  stand  for 
it;  two  members  were  willing  to  support  it,  and 
there  will  be  a  minority  report.  It 's  that  same 
bill  that  was  jumped  on  so  hard  at  the  last  session, 
only  it's  been  given  a  fresh  coat  of  paint." 

"It  seems  to  have  taken  you  several  weeks  to  find 
that  out.  There's  nothing  wrong  with  that  bill.  It 

(436) 


A  WASHINGTON'S   BIRTHDAY  BALL 

merely  frames  a  natural  and  reasonable  right  into 
a  statute.  Those  labor  cranks  at  the  State  House 
have  been  trying  to  scare  you.0 

"No,  sir;  that  thing's  dead  wrong!  You  not  only 
know  it 's  wrong,  but  you  misled  me  about  it.  That 
public  benefit  clause  is  put  in  there  to  throw  dust  in 
the  eyes  of  the  people;  it  makes  possible  the  very 
combination  and  absorption  of  industries  that  the 
party  is  pledged  to  fight.  I  have  bawled  against 
those  things  in  every  county  in  Indiana! " 

Bassett  nodded,  but  showed  no  irritation.  His 
manner  irritated  Harwood.  The  younger  man's  lips 
twitched  slightly  as  he  continued. 

"And  the  fact  that  you  were  behind  it  has  leaked 
out;  the  'Advertiser'  is  on  to  it  and  is  going  to  go 
after  it  to-morrow.  House  Bill  Ninety-five  is  an  out 
rage  on  the  party  honor  and  an  affront  to  the  intel 
ligence  of  the  people.  And  moreover  your  interest 
in  having  me  made  chairman  of  the  committee  that 
had  to  pass  on  it  does  n't  look  good." 

"Well,  sir,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 
I'm  not  particularly  interested  in  that  bill;  but  a 
lot  of  our  friends  are  behind  it,  and  we  Ve  got  to 
take  care  of  our  friends,"  said  Bassett,  without  rais 
ing  his  voice. 

Their  relations  were  practically  at  an  end;  and 
Bassett  did  not  care.  But  Dan  felt  the  wrench;  he 
felt  it  the  more  keenly  because  of  Bassett's  impas- 
siveness  at  this  moment  of  parting. 

1 '  You ' ve  been  a  kind  friend  to  me,  sir ;  you  Ve  — ' ' 

Bassett  laid  his  hand  with  an  abrupt  gesture  upon 
Harwood 's  arm,  and  smiled  a  curious,  mirthless  smile. 

(437) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

' '  None  of  that !  I  told  you ,  when  the  time  came  for 
you  to  go,  you  need  shed  no  tears  at  the  parting.  Re 
member,  you  don't  owe  me  anything;  we  're  quits." 

"  I  hoped  you  would  n't  see  it  just  this  way;  that 
you  would  realize  the  danger  of  that  bill  —  to  the 
party,  to  yourself!" 

"You  can  score  heavily  by  showing  up  the  bill  for 
what  you  think  it  is.  Go  ahead ;  it 's  your  chance.  I 
have  n't  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

He  folded  his  white  gloves  and  put  them  away 
carefully  in  his  breast  pocket. 

" Good-night,  sir!" 

"Good-night,  Harwood!" 

The  dancing  continued  above.  Mrs.  Owen  in 
sisted  on  seeing  her  last  guest  depart,  but  begged 
Harwood  to  take  Sylvia  home  at  once.  As  they  left 
a  few  minutes  later  Dan  caught  a  glimpse  of  Bassett 
sitting  alone  in  the  smoking-room. 

On  the  way  to  Elizabeth  House  Dan  told  Sylvia 
what  had  happened. 

The  carriage  plunged  roughly  through  the  drifting 
snow.  Sleet  drove  sharply  against  the  windows. 

"He  lied  to  me  about  it;  and  I  thought  that  with 
all  his  faults  he  would  play  square  with  me.  The  whole 
corporation  lobby  is  back  of  the  bill.  I  was  stupid 
not  to  have  seen  it  earlier;  I  Ve  been  a  dull  ass  about  a 
lot  of  things.  But  it's  over  now;  I'm  done  with  him." 

"I'm  glad  —  glad  you  met  it  squarely  —  and 
glad  that  you  settled  it  quickly.  I'm  glad"  —  she 
repeated  slowly  —  "but  I'm  sorry  too." 

"Sorry?" 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  for  him!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  LADY  OF   THE   DAGUERREOTYPE 

DANIEL  doesn't  seem  to  be  coming,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Owen.  "He  hardly  ever 
misses  a  Sunday  afternoon." 

"He's  working  hard.  I  had  no  idea  legislators 
had  to  work  so  hard,"  said  Sylvia. 

They  sat  in  Mrs.  Owen's  office,  which  was  cosier 
than  the  sitting-room,  and  the  place  where  she 
seemed  most  comfortable.  Since  we  looked  at  her 
desk  last  a  file-hook  has  been  added  to  its  furni 
ture,  and  on  it  hang  impaled  a  few  cuttings  from 
agricultural  newspapers.  The  content  of  these  clip 
pings  will  ultimately  reach  the  "Courier's"  readers, 
—  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,  as  Mrs.  Owen  and  Mr. 
Atwill  now  understand  each  other  perfectly.  It  was 
the  first  Sunday  in  March  and  a  blustery  day,  with 
rain  and  sleet  alternating  at  the  windows  and  an 
impudent  wind  whistling  in  the  chimneys.  Hickory 
logs  snapped  pleasantly  in  the  small  fireplace  that 
was  a  feature  of  the  room.  Sylvia  had  dined  with 
her  friend,  and  the  day  being  of  the  sort  that  en 
courages  confidences,  they  had  prolonged  their  talk. 

"When  did  you  see  Daniel  last?"  asked  Mrs. 
Owen  casually. 

"Last  night,"  replied  Sylvia,  meeting  her  friend's 
eyes  easily.  "He  dropped  in  for  a  little  while.  He 

(439) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

wanted  to  talk  about  his  stand  on  that  corporation 
bill." 

"Well,  he  and  Morton  have  broken  up  house 
keeping.  Daniel  has  climbed  on  to  the  other  side 
of  the  breastworks." 

Sylvia  smiled.  "Yes,  that's  about  it.  But  I  think 
he  has  acted  quite  finely  about  it." 

"You  mean  he  did  n't  jump  on  Morton  as  he  might 
have  done  —  did  n't  make  a  grand  stand  play  of  it?  " 

"Yes;  he  might  have  made  capital  for  himself  out 
of  the  corporation  bill,  but  he  did  n't.  He  made  his 
report  without  bringing  personalities  into  it." 

"And  the  bill  was  passed  over  the  governor's  veto ! 
That  was  Morton's  way  of  showing  that  he  did  n't 
need  Daniel." 

"Very  likely.  I'm  rather  glad  it  happened  that 
way." 

"Glad  Daniel  got  a  licking?" 

"Oh,  not  just  that;  but  it  shows  him  that  if  he's 
going  to  be  the  people's  champion  he  will  have  to  be 
unhorsed  pretty  often.  If  all  these  things  could  be 
accomplished  easily,  there  would  n't  be  any  glory  in 
success.  It's  not  an  easy  thing  to  drive  a  man  like 
Mr.  Bassett  out  of  politics,  or  even  to  defeat  the 
dangerous  measures  he  introduces  in  the  legislature. 
If  it  were  easy  to  get  rid  of  them,  such  men  would  n't 
last  long.  Besides,  I  'm  a  little  afraid  it  was  n't  half  so 
much  Dan's  patriotism  that  was  involved  as  it  was 
his  vanity.  He  was  bitter  because  he  found  that  Mr. 
Bassett  had  deceived  him  and  was  trying  to  use  him. 
But  in  view  of  Mr.  Bassett's  many  kindnesses  to  him 
he  would  n't  make  a  personal  matter  of  it  in  the 

(440) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE    DAGUERREOTYPE 

House.  Dan's  opposition  was  based  on  legal  defects 
in  that  bill,  —  points  that  were  over  the  heads  of 
most  of  the  legislators,  —  but  he  is  now  determined 
to  keep  up  the  fight.  He  finds  that  Mr.  Bassett  is 
quite  able  to  do  as  he  pleases  even  without  his  serv 
ices.  He  felt  that  he  dealt  with  him  magnanimously 
in  keeping  his  antagonism  to  the  corporation  bill  on 
the  high  plane  of  its  legal  unsoundness.  Mr.  Bassett 
ignored  this,  and  merely  secured  the  passage  of  the 
bill  by  marshaling  all  the  votes  he  needed  in  both 
parties." 

"That's  a  new  scheme  they  say  Morton  has  in 
troduced  into  Indiana — this  getting  men  on  both 
sides  to  vote  for  one  of  these  bad  bills.  That  shuts 
up  the  party  newspapers,  and  neither  side  can  use 
that  particular  thing  as  ammunition  at  the  next  elec 
tion.  Instead  of  talking  about  House  Bill  Ninety- 
five  in  the  next  campaign,  they  will  howl  about  the 
tariff  on  champagne,  or  pensions  for  veterans  of  the 
Black  Hawk  War.  They're  all  tarred  with  the  same 
stick  and  don't  dare  call  attention  to  the  other  fel 
low.  Daniel  had  better  get  out  of  politics,"  she 
ended  leadingly. 

"Please,  no!  He'd  better  stay  in  and  learn  how 
to  make  himself  count.  So  far  as  Mr.  Bassett  is  con 
cerned,  I  think  that  for  some  reason  he  had  gone  as 
far  with  Dan  as  he  cared  to.  I  think  he  was  pre 
pared  for  the  break." 

Mrs.  Owen  was  wiping  her  spectacles  on  a  piece 
of  chamois  skin  she  kept  in  her  desk  for  the  pur 
pose,  and  she  concluded  this  rite  with  unusual 
deliberation. 

(440 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"How  do  you  figure  that  out,  Sylvia?" 

"This  must  be  confidential,  Aunt  Sally ;  I  have  said 
nothing  to  Dan  about  it;  but  the  night  of  your 
party  Mr.  Bassett  was  in  a  curious  frame  of  mind." 

"It  seemed  to  me  he  was  particularly  cheerful. 
I  thought  Morton  had  as  good  a  time  as  anybody." 

"Superficially,  yes;  but  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him 
—  in  the  hall,  after  the  dancing  had  begun.  I  think 
in  spite  of  his  apparent  indifference  to  the  constant 
fire  of  his  enemies,  it  has  had  an  effect  on  him.  He's 
hardened  —  or,  if  he  was  always  hard,  he  does  n't 
care  any  longer  whether  he  wears  the  velvet  glove 
or  not.  That  attack  on  Mr.  Thatcher  in  the  con 
vention  illustrates  what  I  mean.  His  self-control 
is  n't  as  complete  as  most  people  seem  to  think  it  is; 
he  lets  go  of  himself  like  a  petulant  child.  That  must 
be  a  new  development  in  him.  It  does  n't  chime  with 
the  other  things  you  hear  of  him  as  a  shrewd,  cal 
culating  manager,  who  strikes  his  enemies  in  the 
dark.  He  was  in  an  evil  humor  that  night  or  he 
would  n't  have  talked  to  me  as  he  did.  He  was  ugly 
and  vindictive.  He  was  not  only  glad  he  had  put 
Dan  in  the  way  of  temptation,  but  he  wanted  me  to 
know  that  he  had  done  it.  He  seemed  to  be  setting 
his  back  to  the  wall  and  daring  the  world." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Owen.  "Morton  has 
seemed  a  little  uneasy  lately.  But  there  don't  seem 
to  be  any  reason  why  he  should  have  picked  you  out 
to  jump  on.  You  never  did  anything  to  Morton." 

"Yes,"  said  Sylvia,  smiling;  "I  laughed  at  him 
once!  I  laughed  at  him  about  the  way  he  had  treated 
Mr.  Thatcher.  We  stopped  right  there,  with  the 

(442) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

laugh;  he  laughed  too,  you  know.  And  he  took  that 
up  again  at  the  party  —  and  I  had  to  explain  what 
my  laugh  meant." 

"Oh,  you  explained  it,  did  you?" 

And  Sylvia  recounted  the  interview. 

"  I  guess  Morton  has  n't  been  laughed  at  much,  and 
that  was  why  he  remembered  it  and  wanted  to  talk 
to  you  again.  I  suspect  that  Hallie  scolds  him  when 
she  does  n't  pet  him..  Most  folks  are  afraid  of  Mor 
ton;  that's  why  he  could  take  care  of  that  corpora 
tion  bill  with  the  'Advertiser'  jumping  him  the 
way  it  did.  Well,  well!  That  must  have  been  quite 
a  day  for  Morton.  You  laughed  at  him,  and  when 
the  rest  of  you  went  off  in  Allen's  automobile  that 
night  I  ran  the  harrow  over  him  a  few  times  my 
self.  Well,  well!" 

Mrs.  Owen  smiled  as  though  recalling  an  agree 
able  experience.  "  As  long  as  there  are  old  stumps  in 
a  field  that  you  must  plough  around  I  have  n't  got 
much  use  for  the  land.  When  the  corn  comes  up 
you  don't  see  the  stumps,  just  sitting  on  the  fence 
and  looking  over  the  scenery;  but  when  you  go  to 
put  the  plow  through  again,  your  same  old  stumps 
loom  up  again,  solider  than  ever.  I  guess  Daniel  will 
come  out  all  right;  he  was  raised  on  a  farm  and 
ought  to  know  how  to  drive  a  straight  furrow.  By 
the  way,  they  telephoned  me  from  Elizabeth  House 
last  night  that  there's  a  vacant  room  there.  Who's 
moved  out?" 

Mrs.  Owen  always  prolonged  the  E  of  Elizabeth, 
and  never  referred  to  the  House  except  by  its  full 
title. 

(443) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Rose  Farrell  has  left.  Went  unexpectedly,  I 
think.  I  did  n't  know  she  was  going." 

"Let  me  see.  She's  that  girl  that  worked  for 
Morton  and  Daniel.  What's  she  leaving  for?" 

"  I  'm  going  to  see  if  I  can't  get  her  back,"  replied 
Sylvia  evasively. 

"Why  Rose  has  been  at  Elizabeth  House  for  two 
years  and  under  the  rules  she  can  stay  a  year  longer. 
She  ain't  getting  married,  is  she?" 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Sylvia.  "  I  'm  going  to  look 
her  up  and  get  her  back  if  possible." 

"You  do  that,  Sylvia.  It  ain't  just  your  place, 
but  I'll  be  glad  if  you'll  see  what's  the  matter.  We 
don't  want  to  lose  a  girl  if  we  can  help  it." 

Mrs.  Owen  rose  and  transferred  a  pile  of  paper- 
bound  books  from  a  shelf  to  her  desk.  Sylvia  re 
cognized  these  as  college  catalogues  and  noted  bits 
of  paper  thrust  into  the  leaves  as  markers. 

"I've  been  looking  into  this  business  some  since 
we  went  down  to  college.  I  had  a  lot  of  these  schools 
send  me  their  catalogues  and  they're  mighty  inter 
esting,  though  a  good  deal  of  it  I  don't  understand. 
Sylvia"  (Sylvia  never  heard  her  name  drawled  as 
Mrs.  Owen  spoke  it  without  a  thrill  of  expectancy) 
—  "Sylvia,  there's  a  lot  of  books  being:  written,  and 
pieces  in  the  magazines  all  the  time,  about  women 
and  what  we  have  done  or  can't  do.  WTiat  do  you 
suppose  it's  all  leading  up  to?" 

"That  question  is  bigger  than  I  am,  Aunt  Sally. 
But  I  think  the  conditions  that  have  thrown  women 
out  into  the  world  as  wage-earners  are  forcing  one 
thing  —  just  one  thing,  that  is  more  important  now 

(444) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

than  any  other  —  it 's  all  summed  up  in  the  word 
efficiency." 

"Efficiency?'1 

Mrs.  Owen  reached  for  the  poker  and  readjusted 
the  logs;  she  watched  the  resulting  sparks  for  a 
moment,  then  settled  herself  back  in  her  chair  and 
repeated  Sylvia's  word  again. 

"You  mean  that  a  woman  has  got  to  learn  how 
to  make  her  jelly  jell?  Is  that  your  notion?" 

"  Exactly  that.  She  must  learn  not  to  waste  her 
strokes.  Any  scheme  of  education  for  woman  that 
leaves  that  out  works  an  injury.  If  women  are  to  be 
a  permanent  part  of  the  army  of  wage-earning 
Americans  they  must  learn  to  get  full  value  from 
their  minds  or  hands  —  either  one,  it's  the  same. 
The  trouble  with  us  women  is  that  there 's  a  lot  of 
the  old  mediaeval  taint  in  us." 

"Mediaeval?    Say  that  some  other  way,  Sylvia. " 

"I  mean  that  we're  still  crippled  —  we  women 
—  by  the  long  years  in  which  nothing  was  expected 
of  us  but  to  sit  in  ivy-mantled  casements  and  work 
embroidery  while  our  lords  went  out  to  fight,  or 
thrummed  the  lute  under  our  windows." 

"Well,  there  was  Joan  of  Arc:  she  delivered  the 
goods." 

"To  be  sure;  she  does  rather  light  up  her  time, 
does  n't  she?"  laughed  Sylvia. 

"Sylvia,  the  day  I  first  saw  a  woman  hammer  a 
typewriter  in  a  man's  office,  I  thought  the  end  had 
come.  It  seemed,  as  the  saying  is, 'agin  nater';and 
I  reckon  it  was.  Nowadays  these  buildings  down 
town  are  full  of  women.  At  noontime  Washington 

(445) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Street  is  crowded  with  girls  who  work  in  offices  and' 
shops.  They  don't  get  much  pay  for  it  either.  Most 
of  those  girls  would  a  lot  rather  work  in  an  office  or 
stand  behind  a  counter  than  stay  at  home  and  help 
their  mothers  bake  and  scrub  and  wash  and  iron. 
These  same  girls  used  to  do  just  that,  —  help  their 
mothers,  —  coming  downtown  about  once  a  month, 
or  when  there  was  a  circus  procession,  and  having 
for  company  some  young  engine-wiper  who  took 
them  to  church  or  to  a  Thanksgiving  matinee  and 
who  probably  married  them  some  day.  A  girl  who 
did  n't  marry  took  in  sewing  for  the  neighbors,  and  as 
like  as  not  went  to  live  with  her  married  sister  and 
looked  after  her  babies.  I  've  seen  all  these  things 
change.  Nowadays  girls  have  got  to  have  excitement. 
They  like  spending  their  days  in  the  big  buildings; 
the  men  in  the  offices  jolly  them,  the  men  bookkeep 
ers  and  clerks  seem  a  lot  nicer  than  the  mechanics 
that  live  out  in  their  neighborhood.  When  they 
ain't  busy  they  loaf  in  the  halls  of  the  buildings  flirt 
ing,  or  reading  novels  and  talking  to  their  bosses' 
callers.  They  don't  have  to  soil  their  hands,  and 
you  can  dress  a  girl  up  in  a  skirt  and  shirt-waist  so 
she  looks  pretty  decent  for  about  two  weeks  of  her 
wages.  They  don't  care  much  about  getting  married 
unless  they  can  strike  some  fellow  with  an  auto 
mobile  who  can  buy  them  better  clothes  than  they 
can  buy  themselves.  What  they  hanker  for  is  a  flat 
or  boarding-house  where  they  won't  have  any  house 
keeping  to  do.  Housekeeping!  Their  notions  of 
housekeeping  don't  go  beyond  boiling  an  egg  on  a 
gas  range  and  opening  up  a  sofa  to  sleep  on.  You  're 

(446) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

an  educated  woman,  Sylvia;  what's  going  to  come 
of  all  this?" 

"  It  is  n't  just  the  fault  of  the  girls  that  they  do 
this,  is  it?  Near  my  school-house  there  are  girls  who 
stay  at  home  with  their  mothers,  and  many  of  them 
are  without  any  ambition  of  any  kind.  I  'm  a  good 
deal  for  the  girl  who  wants  to  strike  out  for  herself. 
The  household  arts  as  you  knew  them  in  your  youth 
can't  be  practised  in  the  home  any  more  on  the  in 
come  of  the  average  man.  Most  women  of  the  kind 
we  're  talking  about  wear  ready-made  clothes  — 
not  because  they're  lazy,  but  because  the  tailor- 
made  suits  which  life  in  a  city  demands  can't  be 
made  by  any  amateur  sempstress.  They're  turned 
out  by  the  carload  in  great  factories  from  designs  of 
experts.  There's  no  bread  to  bake  in  the  modern  me 
chanic's  home,  for  better  bread  and  cake  are  made 
more  cheaply  in  the  modern  bakeshop.  Was  n't 
there  really  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  about  the  pies 
that  mother  used  to  make  —  I  wonder?  There  were 
perhaps  in  every  community  women  who  were  nat 
ural  cooks,  but  our  Mary  used  to  drive  grandfather 
crazy  with  her  saleratus  biscuits  and  greasy  dough 
nuts.  A  good  cook  in  the  old  times  was  famous  all 
over  the  community  because  the  general  level  of 
cooking  was  so  low.  Women  used  to  take  great 
pride  in  their  preservings  and  jellyings,  but  at  the 
present  prices  of  fruit  and  sugar  a  city  woman 
would  lose  money  making  such  things.  It's  largely 
because  this  work  can't  be  done  at  home  that  girls 
such  as  we  have  at  Elizabeth  House  have  no  sort  of 
manual  dexterity  and  have  to  earn  a  poor  living  do- 

(447) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ing  something  badly  that  they're  not  interested  in 
or  fitted  for.  Women  have  one  terrible  handicap  in 
going  out  into  the  world  to  earn  their  living;  it's  the 
eternal  romance  that's  in  all  of  us,"  said  Sylvia  a 
little  dreamily.  "I  don't  believe  any  woman  ever 
gets  beyond  that."  It  was  a  note  she  rarely  struck 
and  Mrs.  Owen  looked  at  her  quickly.  "  I  mean,  the 
man  who  may  be  always  waiting  just  around  the 


corner." 


"You  mean  every  girl  has  that  chance  before  her? 
Well,  a  happy  marriage  is  a  great  thing  —  the 
greatest  thing  that  can  happen  to  a  woman.  My 
married  life  was  a  happy  one  —  very  happy;  but  it 
did  n't  last  long.  It  was  my  misfortune  to  lose  my 
husband  and  the  little  girl  when  I  was  still  young. 
They  think  I  'm  hard  —  yes,  a  good  many  people  do 
—  because  I  've  been  making  money.  But  I  had  to 
do  something;  I  could  n't  sit  with  my  hands  folded; 
and  what  I  've  done  I  've  tried  to  do  right.  I  hope 
you  won't  leave  love  and  marriage  out  of  your  life, 
Sylvia.  In  this  new  condition  of  things  that  we've 
talked  about  there's  no  reason  why  a  woman 
should  n't  work  —  do  things,  climb  up  high,  and  be 
a  woman,  too.  He'll  be  a  lucky  man  who  gets  you 
to  stand  by  him  and  work  for  him  and  with  him." 

"Oh,"  sighed  Sylvia,  "there  are  so  many  things 
to  do !  I  want  to  know  so  much  and  do  so  much ! ' ' 

"You'll  know  them  and  do  them;  but  I  don't 
want  you  to  have  a  one-sided  life.  Dear  Sylvia," 
and  Mrs.  Owen  bent  toward  the  girl  and  touched 
her  hand  gently,  l<  I  don't  want  you  to  leave  love  out 
of  your  life." 

(448) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence  and  then  Mrs. 
Owen  opened  a  drawer  and  drew  out  a  faded  morocco 
case.  "Here's  a  daguerreotype  of  my  mother  and 
me,  when  I  was  about  four 'years  old.  Notice  how 
cute  I  look  in  those  pantalets  —  ever  see  those  things 
before?  Well,  I  've  been  thinking  that  I  'm  a  kind  of 
left-over  from  daguerreotype  times,  and  you  belong 
to  the  day  of  the  kodak.  I  'm  a  dingy  old  shadow  in 
a  daguerreotype  picture,  in  pantalets,  cuddled  up 
against  my  mother's  hoopskirt.  You,  Sylvia,  can  take 
a  suit-case  and  a  kodak  and  travel  alone  to  Siam ;  and 
you  can  teach  in  a  college  alongside  of  men  and  do 
any  number  of  things  my  mother  would  have  dropped 
dead  to  think  about.  And,"  she  added  quizzically, 
"it  gives  me  heart  failure  myself  sometimes,  just 
thinking  about  it  all.  I  can't  make  you  throw  your 
kodak  away,  and  I  would  n't  if  I  could,  any  more 
than  I  'd  want  you  to  sit  up  all  night  sewing  clothes 
to  wear  to  your  school-teaching  when  you  can  buy 
better  ones  already  made  that  have  real  style. 
It  tickles  me  that  some  women  have  learned  that 
it's  weak-minded  to  massage  and  paraffine  their 
wrinkles  out  —  those  things,  Sylvia,  strike  me  as 
downright  immoral.  What  I've  been  wondering  is 
whether  I  can  do  anything  for  the  kind  of  girls  we 
have  at  Elizabeth  House  beyond  giving  them  a 
place  to  sleep,  and  I  guess  you've  struck  the  idea 
with  that  word  efficiency.  No  girl  born  to-day, 
particularly  in  a  town  like  this,  is  going  back  to  make 
her  own  soap  out  of  grease  and  lye  in  her  back  yard. 
But  she's  got  to  learn  to  do  something  well  or  she'll 
starve  or  go  to  the  bad;  or  if  she  does  n't  have  to 

(449) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

work  she'll  fool  her  life  away  doing  nothing.  Now 
you  poke  a  few  holes  in  my  ideas,  Sylvia." 

"  Please,  Aunt  Sally,  don't  think  that  because  I  Ve 
been  to  college  I  can  answer  all  those  questions!  I  'm 
just  beginning  to  study  them.  But  the  lady  of  the  da 
guerreotype  in  hoops  marks  one  era,  and  the  kodak 
girl  in  a  short  skirt  and  shirt-waist  another.  Women 
had  to  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  proving  that  their 
brains  could  stand  the  strain  of  higher  education  — 
that  they  could  take  the  college  courses  prescribed 
for  men.  That's  all  been  settled  now,  but  we  can't 
stop  there.  A  college  education  for  women  is  all 
right,  but  we  must  help  the  girl  who  can't  go  to  col 
lege  to  do  her  work  well  in  the  office  and  depart 
ment  store  and  factory."  ^ 

"Or  to  feed  a  baby  so  it  won't  die  of  colic,  and  to 
keep  ptomaine  poison  out  of  her  ice  box!"  added 
Mrs.  Owen. 

u Exactly,"  replied  Sylvia. 

"Suppose  a  girl  like  Marian  had  gone  to  college 
just  as  you  did,  what  would  it  have  done  for  her?" 

"A  good  deal,  undoubtedly.  It  would  have  given 
her  wider  interests  and  sobered  her,  and  broadened 
her  chances  of  happiness." 

"Maybe  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Owen;  and  then  a 
smile  stole  over  her  face.  "I  reckon  you  can  hardly 
call  Marian  a  kodak  girl.  She's  more  like  one  of 
these  flashlight  things  they  set  off  with  a  big  explo 
sion.  Only  time  I  ever  got  caught  in  one  of  those 
pictures  was  at  a  meeting  of  the  Short-Horn  Breed 
ers'  Association  last  week.  They  fired  off  that  photo 
graph  machine  to  get  a  picture  for  the  '  Courier '  — 

(450) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

I  've  been  prodding  them  for  not  printing  more  farm 
and  stock  news  —  and  a  man  sitting  next  to  me 
jumped  clean  out  of  his  boots  and  yelled  fire.  I  had 
to  go  over  to  the  '  Courier '  office  and  see  the  editor — 
that  Atwill  is  a  pretty  good  fellow  when  you  get  used 
to  him  —  to  make  sure  they  did  n't  guy  us  farmers 
for  not  being  city  broke.  As  for  Marian,  folks  like 
her!" 

"No  one  can  help  liking  her.  She's  a  girl  of  im 
pulses  and  her  impulses  are  all  healthy  and  sound. 
And  her  good  fellowship  and  good  feeling  are  inex 
haustible.  She  came  over  to  see  me  at  Elizabeth 
House  the  other  evening  —  had  Allen  bring  her  in 
his  machine  and  leave  her.  The  girls  were  singing 
songs  and  amusing  themselves  in  the  parlor,  and 
Marian  took  off  her  hat  and  made  herself  at  home 
with  them.  She  sang  several  songs,  and  then  got 
to  ' cutting  up'  and  did  some  of  those  dances  she's 
picked  up  somewhere — did  them  well  too.  But  with 
all  her  nonsense  she  has  a  lot  of  good  common  sense, 
and  she  wrill  find  a  place  for  herself.  She  will  get  mar 
ried  one  of  these  days  and  settle  down  beautifully." 

"Allen?" 

"Possibly.  The  Bassetts  don't  seem  troubled  by 
Allen's  attentions  to  Marian;  but  the  real  fight 
between  Mr.  Thatcher  and  Mr.  Bassett  has  n't 
come  yet." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"Oh,  it's  in  the  air;  every  one  says  so,   Dan  says 


so." 


"I've  warned  Morton  to  let  Edward  Thatcher 
alone.  The  United  States  Senate  would  n't  be  orna- 

(451) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

mented  by  having  either  one  of  them  down  there.  I 
met  Colonel  Ramsay — guess  he's  got  the  senatorial 
bee  in  his  hat,  too  —  coming  up  on  the  train  from 
Louisville  the  other  day.  There's  only  one  qualifi 
cation  I  can  think  of  that  the  Colonel  has  for  going  to 
the  Senate  —  he  would  wring  tears  out  of  the  gal 
leries  when  he  made  obituary  speeches  about  the 
dead  members.  When  my  brother  Blackford  was 
senator,  it  seemed  to  me  he  spent  most  of  his  time 
acting  as  pallbearer  for  the  dead  ones.  But  what 
were  we  talking  about,  Sylvia?  Oh,  yes.  I  'm  going 
to  send  those  catalogues  over  to  your  room,  and  as 
you  get  time  I  want  you  to  study  out  a  scheme 
for  a  little  school  to  teach  what  you  call  efficiency  to 
girls  that  have  to  earn  their  living.  I  don't  mean 
school-teaching,  but  a  whole  lot  of  things  women 
ought  to  be  doing  but  ain't  because  they  don't 
know  how.  Do  you  get  the  idea?" 

"A  school ?"  asked  Sylvia  wonderingly. 

"  A  kind  of  school."  " 

"It's  a  splendid,  a  beautiful  idea,  but  you  need 
better  advice  than  I  can  give  you.  They  talk  a  good 
deal  now  about  vocational  training,  and  it's  going  to 
mean  a  great  deal  to  women." 

"Well,  we  must  get  hold  of  all  the  latest  ideas,  and 
if  there's  any  good  in  us  old  daguerreotypes,  we'll 
keep  it,  and  graft  it  on  to  the  kodak." 

"Oh,  I  hope  there  will  always  be  ladies  of  the 
daguerreotype!  One  thing  we  women  have  to  pray 
to  be  saved  from  is  intolerance  toward  our  sisters. 
You  know,"  continued  Sylvia  with  a  dropping  of  her 
voice  and  a  tilting  of  her  head  that  caused  Mrs. 

(452) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

Owen  to  laugh,  —  "you  know  we  are  not  awfully 
tolerant.  And  there's  a  breadth  of  view,  an  ability 
to  brush  away  trifles  and  get  to  the  heart  of  things, 
that  we're  just  growing  up  to.  And  magnanimity  — 
I  think  we  fall  short  there.  I'm  just  now  trying  to 
cultivate  a  sisterly  feeling  toward  these  good  women 
for  wrhom  Jane  Austen  and  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
and  the  knitting  of  pale-blue  tea  cosies  are  all  of  life 
—  who  like  mild  twilight  with  the  children  singing 
hymns  at  the  piano  and  the  husband  coming  home 
to  find  his  slippers  set  up  against  the  baseburner. 
That  was  beautiful,  but  even  they  owe  something 
to  the  million  or  so  women  to  whom  Jane  Addams  is 
far  more  important  than  Jane  Austen.  It  might 
be  more  comfortable  if  the  world  never  moved,  but 
unfortunately  it  does  seem  to  turn  over  occasionally." 
"  I  notice  that  you  can  say  things  like  that,  Sylvia, 
without  waving  your  hands,  or  shouting  like  an  old 
woman  with  a  shawl  on  her  head  swinging  a  broom 
at  the  boys  in  her  cherry  tree.  We  've  got  to  learn  to 
do  that.  It  was  some  time  after  I  went  into  business, 
when  Jackson  Owen  died,  before  I  learned  that  you 
could  n't  shoo  men  the  way  you  shoo  hens.  You 
got  to  drop  a  little  corn  in  a  fence  corner  and  then 
throw  your  apron  over  'em.  It  strikes  me  that  if 
you  could  catch  these  girls  that  go  to  work  in  stores 
and  offices  young  enough  you  might  put  them  in  the 
way  of  doing  something  better.  There  are  schools 
doing  this  kind  of  thing,  but  I  'd  like  to  plant  one 
right  here  in  Indiana  for  the  kind  of  girls  we've  got 
at  Elizabeth  House.  They  have  n't  much  ambition, 
most  of  'em;  they're  stuck  right  where  they  are. 

(453) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

I  'd  like  to  see  what  can  be  done  toward  changing 
that,  and  see  it  started  in  my  lifetime.  And  we  must 
do  it  right.  Think  it  over  as  you  get  time."  She 
glanced  at  the  window.  "You  'd  better  stay  all  night, 
Sylvia;  it's  getting  dark." 

"  No,  I  must  run  along  home.  The  girls  expect  me." 

"That  school  idea's  just  between  you  and  me  for 
the  present,"  Mrs.  Owen  remarked  as  she  watched 
Sylvia  button  her  mackintosh.  "Look  here,  Sylvia, 
don't  you  need  some  money?  I  mean,  of  course, 
don't  you  want  to  borrow  some?" 

"Oh,  never!  By  the  way,  I  did  n't  tell  you  that 
I  expect  to  make  some?  The  publisher  of  one  of 
grandfather's  textbooks  came  to  see  me  about  the 
copyright,  and  there  were  some  changes  in  the  book 
that  grandfather  thought  should  be  made  and  I  'm 
going  to  make  them.  There's  a  chance  of  it's  being 
adopted  in  one  or  two  states.  And  then,  I  want  to 
make  a  geometry  of  my  own.  All  the  textbooks 
make  it  so  hard  —  and  it  really  is  n't.  The  same 
publisher  told  me  he  thought  well  of  my  scheme,  and 
I'm  going  ahead  with  it." 

"Well,  don't  you  kill  yourself  writing  geometries. 
I  should  think  teaching  the  youngsters  would  be  a 
full  job." 

"That's  not  a  job  at  all,  Aunt  Sally;  that's  just 
fun.  And  you  know  I  'm  not  going  to  do  it  always. 
I  'm  learning  things  now  that  I  needed  to  know.  I 
only  wish  my  mind  were  as  sound  as  my  health." 

"You  ought  to  wear  heavier  flannels,  though;  it 's 
a  perfect  scandal  what  girls  run  around  in  nowa 
days." 

(454) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

She  rested  her  hands  on  Sylvia's  shoulders  lightly, 
smiled  into  her  face,  and  then  bent  forward  and 
kissed  her. 

"  I  don't  understand  why  you  won't  wear  rubbers, 
but  be  sure  you  don't  sit  around  all  evening  in  wet 
stockings." 

A  gray  mist  was  hastening  nightfall,  though  the 
street  lamps  were  not  yet  lighted.  The  glow  of  Mrs. 
Owen's  kindness  lingered  with  Sylvia  as  she  walked 
toward  Elizabeth  House.  She  was  constantly  sur 
prised  by  her  friend's  intensely  modern  spirit  —  her 
social  curiosity,  and  the  breadth  and  sanity  of  her 
views.  This  suggestion  of  a  vocational  school  for 
young  women  had  kindled  Sylvia's  imagination,  and 
her  thoughts  were  upon  it  as  she  tramped  homeward 
through  the  slush.  To  establish  an  institution  such 
as  Mrs.  Owen  had  indicated  would  require  a  large 
sum  of  money,  and  there  were  always  the  Bassetts, 
the  heirs  apparent  of  their  aunt's  fortune.  Any  feel 
ing  of  guilt  Sylvia  may  have  experienced  by  reason 
of  her  enforced  connivance  with  Mrs.  Owen  for  the 
expenditure  of  her  money  was  mitigated  by  her  be 
lief  that  the  Bassetts  were  quite  beyond  the  need  of 
their  aunt's  million,  the  figure  at  which  Mrs.  Owen's 
fortune  was  commonly  appraised. 

She  was  thinking  of  this  when  a  few  blocks  from 
Mrs.  Owen's  she  met  Morton  Bassett.  The  electric 
lamp  overhead  was  just  sputtering  into  light  as  he 
moved  toward  her  out  of  an  intersecting  street.  His 
folded  umbrella  was  thrust  awkwardly  under  his 
arm,  and  he  walked  slowly  with  bent  head.  The  hiss 
ing  of  the  lamp  caused  him  to  lift  his  eyes.  Sylvia 

(455) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

paused  an  instant,  and  he  raised  his  hat  as  he  recog 
nized  her. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Garrison!  I've  just  been 
out  for  a  walk.  It's  a  dreary  evening,  is  n't  it?" 

Sylvia  explained  that  she  had  been  to  Mrs.  Owen's 
and  was  on  her  way  home,  and  he  asked  if  he  might 
go  with  her. 

"Marian  usually  walked  with  me  at  Fraserville, 
but  since  we've  been  here,  Sunday  seems  to  be  her 
busy  day.  I  find  that  I  don't  know  much  about  the 
residential  district;  I  can  easily  lose  myself  in  this 
part  of  town." 

During  these  commonplaces  she  wondered  just 
where  their  conversation  at  Marian's  ball  had  left 
them;  the  wet  street  was  hardly  a  more  favorable 
place  for  serious  talk  than  the  crowded  Propylseum. 
The  rain  began  to  fall  monotonously,  and  he  raised 
his  umbrella. 

"Some  things  have  happened  since  our  last  talk," 
he  observed  presently. 

"Yes?"  she  replied  dubiously. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  of  them,"  he  answered. 
"Dan  has  left  me.  You  know  that?" 

"Yes;  I  know  of  it." 

"And  you  think  he  has  done  quite  the  fine  thing 
about  it  —  it  was  what  you  would  have  had  him 
do?" 

"Yes,  certainly.  You  practically  told  me  you  were 
putting  him  to  the  test.  You  were  n't  embarrassed 
by  his  course  in  any  way;  you  were  able  to  show  him 
that  you  did  n't  care;  you  did  n't  need  him." 

"  You  saw  that?  You  read  that  in  what  followed?" 

(456) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  DAGUERREOTYPE 

"It  was  written  so  large  that  no  one  could  miss  it. 
You  are  the  master.  You  proved  it  again.  I  suppose 
you  found  a  great  satisfaction  in  that.  A  man  must, 
or  he  would  n't  do  such  things." 

"You  seem  to  understand,"  he  replied,  turning 
toward  her  for  an  instant.  "But  there  may  be  one 
thing  you  don't  understand." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  in  which  they 
splashed  on  slowly  through  the  slush. 

"I  liked  Dan;  I  was  fond  of  him.  And  yet  I  de 
liberately  planned  to  make  him  do  that  kind  of 
thing  for  me.  I  pulled  him  out  of  the  newspaper 
office  and  made  it  possible  for  him  to  study  law,  just 
that  I  might  put  my  hand  on  him  when  he  could  be 
useful.  Please  understand  that  I  'm  not  saying  this 
in  the  hope  that  you  will  intercede  to  bring  him  back. 
Nothing  can  bring  him  back.  I  would  n't  let  him 
come  back  to  me  if  he  would  starve  without  my 
help." 

Sylvia  was  silent;  there  was  nothing  with  which 
she  could  meet  this. 

"What  I  mean  is,"  he  continued,  "that  I'm  glad 
he  shook  me;  I  had  wondered  from  the  beginning 
just  when  it  would  come,  and  when  I  saw  his  things 
going  out  of  my  office,  it  satisfied  something  in  me. 
I  wonder  whether  there's  some  good  in  me  after 
all  that  made  me  glad  in  spite  of  myself  that  he 
had  the  manhood  to  quit." 

Bassett  was  a  complex  character;  his  talk  and 
manner  at  Marian's  ball  had  given  her  a  sense  of 
this  which  he  was  now  confirming.  Success  had  not 
brought  him  happiness;  the  loss  of  Dan  had  been  a 

(457) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

blow  to  him,  and  she  felt  the  friendlessness  and  isola 
tion  of  this  man  whom  men  feared.  He  had  spoken 
doggedly,  gruffly,  and  if  she  had  marveled  at  their 
talk  at  the  dance,  her  wonder  was  the  greater  now.  It 
was  inconceivable  that  Morton  Bassett  should  come 
to  her  with  his  difficulties.  If  his  conscience  troubled 
him,  or  if  he  was  touched  with  remorse  for  his  con 
duct  toward  Dan  Harwood,  she  was  unable  to  see 
why  he  should  make  his  confession  to  her.  It  seemed 
that  he  had  read  her  thoughts,  for  he  spoke  roughly, 
as  though  defending  himself  from  an  attack. 

"You  like  him;  you've  known  him  for  several 
years;  you  know  him  probably  better  than  you 
know  any  other  man." 

"I  suppose  I  do,  Mr.  Bassett,"  said  Sylvia;  "we 
are  good  friends,  but  —  that's  all." 

He  stopped  short,  and  she  felt  his  hand  touch  her 
arm  for  an  instant  lightly  —  it  was  almost  like  a 
caress,  there  in  the  rain-swept  street  with  the  maple 
boughs  swishing  overhead  in  the  cold  west  wind. 

He  quickened  his  pace  now,  as  though  to  mark  a 
new  current  in  his  thoughts. 

"There 's  a  favor  I  want  to  ask  of  you,  Miss  Garri 
son.  Dan  talked  to  me  once  or  twice  about  your 
grandfather's  estate.  He  owned  some  shares  in  a 
business  I  had  helped  to  organize,  the  White  River 
Canneries.  The  scheme  failed  for  many  reasons;  the 
shares  are  worthless.  I  want  you  to  let  me  pay  you 
back  the  money  Professor  Kelton  paid  for  them.  I 
should  have  to  do  it  privately  —  it  would  have  to 
be  a  matter  between  you  and  me." 

"Oh,  no!    Dan  explained  that  to  me;  he  did  n't 

(458) 


A  SUDDEN  FIERCE  ANGER  BURNED  IN  HER  HEART 


THE  LADY  OF  THE   DAGUERREOTYPE 

hold  you  responsible.  He  said  the  company  failed, 
that  was  all.  You  are  kind  to  offer,  but  I  can't  think 
of  accepting  it." 

"Very  well,"  he  said  quietly.  And  then  added, 
as  though  to  explain  himself  more  fully:  "Your 
grandfather  and  Mrs.  Owen  were  old  friends.  He 
was  n't  a  business  man.  I  promoted  the  canneries 
scheme  and  I  was  responsible  for  it,  no  matter  what 
Harwood  says  about  it." 

She  had  experienced  sharp  alternations  of  pity 
and  apprehension  in  this  brief  walk.  He  was  a  promi 
nent  man;  almost,  it  might  be  said,  a  notorious  char 
acter.  The  instinct  of  self-protection  was  strong  in 
her;  what  might  lie  behind  his  confidences,  his  blunt 
confessions,  and  his  offer  of  help,  she  did  not  know. 
They  had  reached  Elizabeth  House,  and  she  paused 
on  the  broad  steps  under  the  shelter  of  the  veranda. 
With  her  back  toward  the  door  she  looked  down  upon 
him  as  he  stood  on  the  sidewalk,  his  umbrella  deeply 
shadowing  his  head  and  shoulders.  She  stood  before 
him  like  a  vestal  guarding  her  temple  from  desecra 
tion.  She  was  conscious  of  a  sharp  revulsion  of  feel 
ing,  and  a  sudden  fierce  anger  burned  in  her  heart. 
She  spoke  with  a  quick,  passionate  utterance. 

"There  is  something  you  can  do  for  me,  Mr.  Bas- 
sett.  I  'm  going  to  bring  Rose  Farrell  back  to  this 
house.  I  want  you  to  let  her  alone!  " 

He  stood  dumbly  staring  at  the  door  as  it  closed 
upon  her.  He  lingered  a  moment,  the  rain  beating 
down  upon  him,  and  then  walked  slowly  homeward. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

APRIL   VISTAS 

I  Sit  possible?  Is  it  possible!" 
Colonel  Ramsay's  entrances  were  frequently 
a  bit  theatrical,  and  on  a  particular  afternoon 
in  April,  as  he  opened  the  door  of  Dan  Harwood's 
new  office  in  the  Law  Building,  the  sight  of  Miss 
Farrell  at  the  typewriter  moved  him  to  character 
istic  demonstrations.  Carefully  closing  the  door  and 
advancing,  hat  in  hand,  with  every  appearance  of 
deepest  humility,  he  gazed  upon  the  young  woman 
with  a  mockery  of  astonishment. 

"Verily,  it  is  possible,"  he  solemnly  ejaculated. 
"And  what  is  it  that  our  own  poet  says:  — 

1 '  When  she  comes  home  again !  A  thousand  ways 
I  fashion  to  myself  the  tenderness 
Of  my  glad  welcome:   I  shall  tremble  —  yes — '" 

"Stop  trembling,  Colonel,  and  try  one  of  our  new 
office  chairs,  warranted  to  hold  anybody  but  Brother 
Ike  Pettit  without  fading  away." 

The  Colonel  bent  over  Miss  Farrell's  hand  rever 
ently  and  sat  down. 

"  I  fve  been  trying  to  earn  an  honest  living  prac 
ticing  law  down  at  home  and  this  is  the  first  chance 
I  've  had  to  come  up  and  see  what  the  late  lamented 
legislature  left  of  the  proud  old  Hoosier  State.  Is  Dan 
locked  up  inside  there  with  some  lucrative  client?" 


APRIL  VISTAS 

"I  regret  to  say  that  I  don't  believe  there's  a 
cent  in  his  present  caller." 

"Hark!"  At  this  moment  a  roar  was  heard  from 
the  inner  room  on  which  "private"  was  printed  in 
discreet  letters.  The  Colonel  was  at  once  alert. 

' '  Ask  me  no  more ;  the  moon  may  draw  the  sea ' 
But  Isaac  Pettit's  jokes  shall  shake  the  land,  — 

with  apologies  to  the  late  Laureate.  So  the  boys  are 
finding  their  way  up  here,  are  they?  I  '11  wait  an  hour 
or  two  till  that  compendium  of  American  humor  has 
talked  Dan  to  sleep.  So  you  and  Dan  left  your 
Uncle  Morton  all  alone  in  gloomy  splendor  in  the 
Boordman  Building!" 

"Mr.  Harwood  made  me  an  offer  and  I  accepted 
it,"  replied  Rose.  ''This  is  a  free  country  and  a 
P.  W.  G.  can  work  where  she  pleases,  can't  she?" 

"P.  W.  G.?" 

"Certainly,  a  poor  working-girl"  —  Rose  clasped 
her  hands  and  bowed  her  head  —  "if  the  initials 
fail  to  illuminate." 

The  Colonel  inspected  the  room,  and  his  eyes 
searched  Miss  Farrell's  desk. 

"Let  me  see,  I  seem  to  miss  something.  It  must 
be  the  literary  offerings  that  used  to  cluster  about  the 
scene  of  your  labors.  Your  selections  in  old  times 
used  to  delight  me.  No  one  else  of  my  acquaint 
ance  has  quite  your  feeling  for  romance.  I  always 
liked  that  one  about  the  square-jawed  American 
engineer  who  won  the  Crown  Princess  of  PifHe  from 
her  father  in  a  poker  game,  but  decided  at  the  last 
minute  to  bestow  her  upon  his  old  college  friend, 

(461) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  Russian  heir-apparent,  just  to  preserve  the 
peace  of  Europe.  I  remember  I  found  you  crying 
over  the  great  renunciation  one  day." 

"Oh,  I  've  passed  that  all  up,  Colonel.  I  'm  strong 
for  the  pale  high-brow  business  now.  I  'm  doing  time 
in  all  the  night  classes  at  Elizabeth  House  where  I 
board,  and  you'll  hardly  know  your  little  Rose 
pretty  soon." 

"Fitting  yourself  for  one  of  the  learned  profes 
sions?" 

"Scarcely.  Just  fitting  myself  to  be  decent," 
replied  Rose  in  a  tone  that  shifted  the  key  of  the 
conversation  —  a  change  which  the  Colonel  re 
spected. 

"That's  right,  Rose.  This  is  a  good  place  for  you, 
and  so  is  Mrs.  Owen's  boarding-house.  By  the  way, 
who 's  this  school-teacher  Aunt  Sally  has  taken  up  — 
saw  her  at  the  party  —  great  chum  of  the  old  lady's." 

"You  must  mean  Miss  Sylvia." 

"Sylvia?" 

"Miss  Sylvia  Garrison.  Colonel  Ramsay,"  con 
tinued  Rose  earnestly,  resting  an  elbow  lightly  on 
her  typewriter,  "you  and  I  are  old  pals  —  you  re 
member  that  first  winter  I  was  over  at  the  State 
House?" 

"Very  well,  Rose." 

"Well,  it  was  n't  a  good  place  for  me  to  be.  But 
I  was  a  kid  and  had  n't  much  sense.  I  've  learned 
a  good  deal  since  then.  It  ain't  so  easy  to  walk 
straight;  so  many  people  are  careless  about  leaving 
banana  peelings  lying  round." 

The  Colonel  nodded. 

(462) 


APRIL  VISTAS 

"You  need  n't  apologize  to  me,  Rose.  It's  all 
right  now,  is  it?" 

"You  can  be  dead  sure  of  it,  Colonel.  Miss 
Garrison  caught  me  by  the  heel  of  my  shoe,  just  as 
I  was  going  down  the  third  time,  and  yanked  me 
back.  There's  a  good  many  cheap  imitations  of 
human  beings  loose  around  this  world,  but  that's  a 
woman,  I  can  tell  you!" 

"Glad  you  struck  a  good  friend,  Rose.  You  did 
well  to  come  along  with  Harwood." 

"Well,  she  fixed  that,  too,  after  I  cut  loose  from 
him  —  you  understand?  I  guess  Miss  Garrison  and 
Mr.  Harwood  are  pretty  good  friends." 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  Ramsay.  "So  there's  that,  is 
there?" 

"  I  hope  so;  they're  all  white  and  speak  the  same 
language.  This  is  on  the  dead.  I  'm  only  talking  to 
you  because  you're  an  old  friend." 

An  occasional  roar  from  within  testified  to  Mr. 
Pettit's  continued  enjoyment  of  his  own  jokes. 

"You  know,"  Rose  continued,  "I  learned  a  good 
deal  those  winters  I  spent  at  the  State  House,  when 
I  was  stenog  to  certain  senate  committees.  I  see 
where  you  stand  now,  all  right,  Colonel.  I  always 
knew  you  did  n't  belong  in  that  bunch  of  lobbyists 
that  was  always  gum-shoeing  through  the  marble 
halls  of  the  State  House.  Thatcher  sends  somebody 
around  to  look  me  up  every  little  while  to  see  if  he 
can't  coax  something  out  of  me,  —  something  he  can 
use,  you  know." 

"Thatcher  ought  n't  to  do  that.  If  you  want  me 
to,  I'll  pull  him  off." 

(463) 


A   HOOSIER   CHRONICLE 

"No;  I  guess  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  He*'  — 
Rose  indicated  the  inner  office  with  a  slight  move 
ment  of  the  head,  "he  never  tries  to  pump  me.  He 
ain't  that  kind  of  a  fighter.  But  everybody  that's 
anywhere  near  the  inside  knows  that  Thatcher 
carries  a  sharp  knife.  He's  going  to  shed  some  pink 
ink  before  he  gets  through.  Are  you  on?" 

They  exchanged  a  glance. 

"Something  that  is  n't  nice?" 

Rose  nodded. 

"  I  hate  to  see  that  sort  of  thing  brought  into  the 
game.  But  they'll  never  find  anything.  The  gentle 
man  we  are  referring  to  works  on  noiseless  rollers."" 
Colonel  Ramsay  indicated  the  closed  door  by  an 
almost  imperceptible  gesture  of  interrogation;  and 
Rose  replied  by  compressing  her  lips  and  shaking  her 
head. 

"He  is  n't  in  on  that;  he's  a  gentleman,  you  know; 
not  a  mud-slinger." 

"He  might  have  to  stand  for  anything  Thatcher 
springs.  Thatcher  has  developed  into  a  shrewd  and 
hard  fighter.  The  other  crowd  don't  laugh  at  him 
any  more;  it  was  his  work  that  got  our  legislative 
ticket  through  last  fall  when  Bassett  passed  the 
word  that  we  should  take  a  licking  —  just  to  mag 
nify  his  importance.  Is  Thatcher  in  town  now?" 

"No;  that  boy  of  his  with  the  bad  lung  had  to  go 
off  to  the  Adirondacks,  and  he  went  with  him." 

The  inner  door  opened  at  this  moment,  disclosing 
the  Honorable  Isaac  Pettit,  who  greeted  Ramsay 
effusively. 

"What  is  immortality,  gentlemen!"  the  Honor- 

(464) 


APRIL  VISTAS 

able  Isaac  Pettit  inquired,  clinging  to  the  Colonel's 
hand.  "We  had  a  little  social  gathering  for  our  new 
pastor  up  at  Fraser  the  other  night,  and  I  sprung  a 
new  game  on  the  old  folks.  Offered  a  prize  for  any 
body  who  could  name  all  the  Vice-Presidents  of  the 
United  States  since  Lincoln's  administration,  and 
they  could  n't  even  get  past  Grant  —  and  Schuyler 
Colfax  being  right  off  our  own  Hoosier  pastures! 
Then  we  tried  for  the  Democratic  candidates  for 
President,  beginning  back  at  the  war,  and  they 
could  n't  even  start.  One  young  chap  piped  up  and 
said  Jeff  Davis  —  oh,  Lord!  —  which  reminds  me 
that  the  teaching  of  history  in  the  public  schools 
ain't  what  it  ought  to  be.  They  had  n't  heard  of 
Hancock,  and  when  somebody  said  Elaine,  the 
teacher  of  the  infant  class  in  our  Sunday  School  said 
Elaine  'who?  That  reminds  me  of  one  time  when  I 
met  Dan  Voorhees,  than  whom  God  Almighty  never 
made  a  nobler  soul;  I  met  Dan  down  here  in  the 
lobby  of  the  old  Bates  House,  carrying  a '  Harper's 
Weekly'  with  one  of  Tom  Nast's  cartoons  spread 
wide  open.  You  know  Dan  had  — " 

Colonel  Ramsay  had  been  edging  toward  the  door 
of  Harwood's  private  room,  and  he  now  broke  in 
upon  the  editor's  reminiscences. 

"You  tell  that  story  to  Miss  Farrell,  Ike.  I'm 
spouting  myself  to-night,  at  a  Christian  Endeavor 
rally  at  Tipton,  and  want  to  see  Dan  a  minute." 

Miss  Farrell  was  inured  to  Pettit's  anecdotes  of 
Dan  Voorhees,  and  the  Fraserville  editor  continued, 
unmindful  of  the  closing  of  the  door  upon  Dan  and 
Ramsay. 

(465) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Ramsay  pushed  his  fedora  to  the  back  of  his  head 
and  inspected  Dan's  new  furniture. 

"Well,  you  did  it!  You  've  cut  loose  from  your  base 
and  burned  your  bridges  behind  you.  I  would  have 
brought  my  congratulations  sooner,  but  I've  had 
a  long  jury  case  on  hand.  You  did  it,  my  boy,  and 
you  did  it  like  a  gentleman.  You  might  have  killed 
him  if  you  had  wanted  to." 

"I  don't  want  to  kill  anybody,"  smiled  Dan.  "I 
want  to  practice  law." 

"That's  a  laudable  ambition,  but  you  can't  go 
back  on  us  now.  What  we  Ve  needed  for  a  long  time 
was  a  young  man  of  about  your  make-up  who 
was  n't  afraid." 

"Don't  rub  it  in,  Colonel.  I  was  a  mighty  long 
time  seeing  the  light,  and  I  don't  deserve  any  praise 
from  anybody.  I  mean  what  I  say  about  practicing 
law.  I  'm  a  free  man  now  and  any  political  work  I 
do  is  going  to  be  along  the  lines  of  the  simple,  child 
ish  ideas  I  brought  home  from  college  with  me.  I 
had  begun  to  feel  that  all  this  political  idealism  was 
sheer  rubbish,  but  I  put  the  brakes  on  before  I  got 
too  far  downhill.  If  a  few  of  us  who  have  run  with 
the  machine  and  know  the  tricks  will  turn  and  help 
the  bewildered  idealists,  we  can  make  idealism  ef 
fective.  Most  of  the  people  don't  want  a  handful  of 
crooks  to  govern  them,  but  there's  a  kind  of  cheap 
cynicism  abroad  that  discourages  the  men  who  are 
eager  to  revolt.  There  are  newspapers  that  foster 
that  sentiment,  and  scores  of  men  who  won't  take 
time  to  go  to  a  caucus  keep  asking  what's  the  use. 
Now,  as  for  Bassett,  I  'm  not  going  to  bite  the  hand 

(466) 


APRIL   VISTAS 

that  fed  me;  I  'm  simply  going  to  feed  myself.  Pettit 
was  just  in  here  to  sound  me  as  to  my  feelings 
toward  Thatcher.  Quite  frankly,  I  'm  not  interested 
in  Thatcher  as  a  senatorial  possibility." 

" That's  all  right;  but  if  you  had  to  make  a  choice 
between  Thatcher  and  Bassett?" 

Dan  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 

"  You  must  n't  exaggerate  the  importance  of  my 
influence.  I  don't  carry  United  States  senatorships 
around  in  my  pocket." 

"  You  're  the  most  influential  man  of  your  age  in 
•our  state.  I  'm  not  so  sure  you  would  n't  be  able  to 
elect  any  man  you  supported  if  the  election  were 
held  to-morrow." 

"  You  've  mastered  the  delicate  art  of  flattery,  Col 
onel;  when  the  time  comes,  I'll  be  in  the  fight.  It's 
not  so  dead  certain  that  our  party 's  going  to  have  a 
•senator  to  elect  —  there's  always  that.  But  all  the 
walls  are  covered  with  handwriting  these  days  that 
does  n't  need  interpreting  by  me  or  any  other  Daniel. 
Many  of  the  younger  men  all  over  this  state  in  both 
parties  are  getting  ready  to  assert  themselves.  What 
we  want  —  what  you  want,  I  believe  —  is  to  make 
this  state  count  for  something  in  national  affairs. 
Just  changing  parties  does  n't  help  anything.  I  'd 
rather  not  shift  at  all  than  send  some  fellow  to  the 
Senate  just  because  he  can  capture  a  caucus.  It's 
my  honest  conviction  that  any  man  can  get  a  caucus 
vote  if  he  will  play  according  to  the  old  rules.  You 
and  I  go  out  over  the  state  bawling  to  the  people 
that  they  are  governing  this  country.  We  appeal  to 
them  for  their  votes  when  we  know  well  enough  that 

(467) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

between  Thatcher  and  Bassett  as  Democrats,  and 
1  Big '  Jordan  and  Ridgefield  in  the  Republican  camp, 
the  people  don't  stand  to  win.  It  may  tickle  you  to 
know  that  I  've  had  some  flattering  invitations  lately 
to  join  the  Republicans  —  not  from  the  old  guard, 
mind  you,  but  from  some  of  the  young  fellows  who 
want  to  score  results  for  policies,  not  politicians. 
I  suppose,  after  all,  Colonel,  I  'm  only  a  kind  of 
academic  Democrat,  with  no  patience  whatever  writh 
this  eternal  hitching  of  our  ancient  mule  to  the 
saloons  and  breweries  just  to  win.  In  the  next  cam 
paign  I  'm  going  to  preach  my  academic  Democracy 
all  the  way  from  Lake  Michigan  to  the  Ohio  River, 
up  and  down  and  back  and  forth  —  and  I  'm  going 
to  do  it  at  my  own  expense  and  not  be  responsible 
to  any  state  committee  or  anybody  else.  That's 
about  where  I  stand." 

"Good ;  mighty  good,  Dan.  All  the  rest  of  us  want 
is  for  you  to  holler  that  in  your  biggest  foghorn  voice 
and  you'll  find  the  crowd  with  you." 

"But  if  the  crowd  isn't  with  me,  it  won't  make 
a  bit  of  difference;  I  shall  bark  just  the  same." 

"Now  that  we've  got  down  to  brass  tacks,  I  '11  tell 
you  what  1  've  thought  ever  since  Bassett  got  his 
clamps  on  the  party:  that  he  really  hasn't  any  quali 
ties  of  leadership;  that  grim,  silent  way  of  his  is  a 
good  deal  of  a  bluff.  If  anybody  ever  has  the  nerve  to 
set  off  a  firecracker  just  behind  him,  he  '11  run  a  mile. 
The  newspapers  keep  flashing  him  up  in  big  head 
lines  all  the  time,  and  that  helps  to  keep  the  people 
fooled.  The  last  time  I  saw  him  was  just  after  he 
put  through  that  corporation  bill  you  broke  on,  and 

(468) 


APRIL  VISTAS 

he  did  n't  seem  to  have  got  much  fun  out  of  his  vic 
tory;  he  looked  pretty  gray  and  worried.  It  was  n't 
so  easy  pulling  through  House  Bill  Ninety-five;  it 
was  the  hardest  job  of  Mort's  life;  but  he  had  to  do 
it  or  take  the  count.  And  Lord !  he  certainly  lost  his 
head  in  defeating  those  appropriation  bills;  he  let 
his  spite  toward  the  governor  get  the  better  of  him. 
It  wasn't  the  Republican  governor  he  put  in  the 
hole;  it  was  his  own  party." 

"That's  the  way  with  all  these  men  of  his  type 
on  both  sides;  they  have  no  real  loyalty;  they  will 
sacrifice  their  parties  any  time  just  to  further  per 
sonal  ends,  or  in  this  case  it  would  seem  to  have  been 
out  of  sheer  bad  temper.  I  did  n't  use  to  think  Bas- 
sett  had  any  temper  or  any  kind  of  emotional  organ 
ization.  But  when  he's  mad  it's  the  meanest  kind 
of  mad,  blind  and  revengeful." 

"  He 's  forced  an  extra  session  —  he 's  brought  that 
on  us.  Just  chew  on  that  a  minute,  Dan.  A  Repub 
lican  governor  has  got  to  reassemble  a  Democratic 
legislature  merely  to  correct  its  own  faults.  It  looks 
well  in  print,  by  George!  Speaking  of  print,  how  did 
he  come  to  let  go  of  the  *  Courier,'  and  who  owns  that 
sheet  any  way?  I  thought  when  Thatcher  sprung  that 
suit  and  dragged  our  Aunt  Sally  into  it,  the  Wabash 
River  would  run  hot  lava  for  the  next  forty  years. 
But  that  night  of  the  ball  she  andMort  stood  there  on 
the  firing-line  as  though  nothing  had  ever  happened . ' ' 

Harwood  grinned  and  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"There  are  some  things,  Colonel,  that  even  to  a 
good  friend  like  you  I  can't  give  away.  Besides,  I 
promised  Atwill  not  to  tell." 

(469) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"All  right,  Dan.  And  now,  for  fear  you  may  think 
I  've  got  something  up  my  sleeve,  I  want  to  say  to 
you  with  my  hand  on  my  heart  that  I  don't  want 
any  office  now  or  ever!" 

"Now,  Colonel,  be  very  careful!"  laughed  Dan. 

"No;  I'm  not  up  here  on  a  fishing-trip.  But  I 
want  you  to  know  where  I  stand  and  the  friendly 
feeling  of  a  whole  lot  of  people  toward  you.  You  say 
the  younger  men  are  getting  tired  of  the  old  boss 
system ;  I  '11  tell  you  that  a  lot  of  the  old  fellows  too 
are  beginning  to  get  restless.  The  absurdity  of  the 
whole  game  on  both  sides  is  beginning  to  get  into 
the  inner  consciousness  of  the  people.  You  know  if  I 
had  stayed  regular  when  the  free-silver  business  came 
on  I  might  have  been  in  a  position  now  to  play  for 
the  governorship  —  which  is  the  only  thing  I  ever 
wanted ;  rather  nice  to  be  governor  of  your  own  state, 
and  have  your  name  scratched  on  a  slab  at  the  State 
House  door;  it's  even  conceivable,  Daniel,  that  a 
man  might  do  a  little  good  —  barely  possible,"  he 
concluded  dryly.  "  I  'm  out  of  it  now  for  good;  but 
anything  I  can  do  to  help  you,  don't  wait  to  write, 
just  telephone  me.  Now  — 

"I'm  not  so  sure  you  can't  make  it  yet;  I'd  like 
to  see  you  there." 

"Thanks,  Daniel;  but  like  you  I'm  in  the  ranks 
of  the  patriots  and  not  looking  for  the  pie  counter. 
Here's  another  matter.  Do  you  mind  telling  me 
what  you're  up  to  in  this  White  River  Canneries 
business?  I  notice  that  you've  been  sticking  the 
can-opener  into  it." 

"Yes;  that  protest  of  the  original  stockholders 

(470) 


APRIL  VISTAS 

against  the  reorganization  is  still  pending.  As  admin 
istrator  of  the  estate  of  Professor  Kelton  —  you  re 
member  him  —  Madison  College — I  filed  a  petition 
to  be  let  into  the  case.  It's  been  sleeping  along  for 
a  couple  of  years  —  stockholders  too  poor  to  put  up 
a  fight.  I  Ve  undertaken  to  probe  clear  into  the  mire. 
I've  got  lots  of  time  and  there's  lots  of  mire!" 

"Good.  They  say  the  succotash  and  peaches  were 
all  cooked  in  the  same  pot,  and  that  our  Uncle  Mort 
did  the  skimming." 

"So  they  say;  but  believe  me,  I  can  attack  him 
without  doing  violence  to  my  professional  conscience. 
White  River  Canneries  was  never  in  the  Boordman 
office  to  my  knowledge.  This  is  n't  vengeance  on  my 
part;  it's  my  duty  to  get  what  I  can  for  the  estate." 

"Well,  some  of  our  farmers  down  my  way  got 
soaked  in  that  deal,  but  it  never  seemed  worth  while 
to  waste  their  money  in  litigation.  I  '11  be  glad  to 
turn  the  claims  I  have  in  my  office  over  to  you;  the 
more  you  have,  the  stronger  fight  you  can  make." 

"Good.  I  welcome  business.  I'm  going  to  see  if 
I  can't  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  can." 

As  a  revoke  Dan  had  attracted  more  attention 
than  he  liked,  in  all  the  circumstances.  Now  that  the 
legislature  had  adjourned,  he  was  anxious  to  give  his 
energy  to  the  law,  and  he  did  not  encourage  political 
pilgrims  to  visit  his  office.  He  felt  that  he  had  be 
haved  generously  toward  his  old  chief  when  the  end 
came,  and  the  promptness  with  which  Bassett's  old 
guard  sought  to  impeach  his  motives  in  fighting  the 
corporation  bill  angered  him.  Threats  of  retalia 
tion  were  conveyed  to  him  from  certain  quarters; 

(471) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  from  less  violent  sources  he  heard  much  of  his 
ingratitude  toward  the  man  who  had  "made"  him. 
He  had  failed  in  his  efforts  to  secure  the  passage  of 
several  measures  whose  enactment  was  urged  by 
the  educational  and  philanthropic  interests  of  the 
community,  and  this  was  plainly  attributable  to 
the  animosity  aroused  by  his  desertion  of  the  cor 
poration  bill.  He  had  not  finished  with  this  last 
measure,  which  had  been  passed  by  Bassett's  bi 
partisan  combination  over  the  governor's  veto. 
The  labor  organizations  were  in  arms  against  it  and 
had  engaged  Dan  to  attack  it  in  the  courts. 

Sylvia's  approval  of  his  course  had  been  as  cor 
dial  as  he  could  have  asked,  and  as  the  spring  ad 
vanced  they  were  much  together.  They  attended 
concerts,  the  theatre,  and  lectures,  as  often  as  she 
had  time  for  relaxation,  and  they  met  pretty  regu 
larly  at  Mrs.  Owen's  dinner  table  on  Sunday  — 
often  running  out  for  long  tramps  in  the  country 
afterward,  to  return  for  supper,  and  a  renewal  of 
their  triangular  councils.  The  Bassetts  were  to  con 
tinue  at  the  Bosworth  house  until  June,  and  when 
Marian  dashed  in  upon  these  Sunday  symposiums 
-  sometimes  with  a  young  cavalier  she  had  taken 
out  for  a  promenade  —  she  gave  Dan  to  understand 
that  his  difficulties  with  her  father  made  not  the 
slightest  difference  to  her. 

11  But,  mama! "  She  spoke  of  her  mother  as  of  one 
whose  views  must  not  weigh  heavily  against  the 
world's  general  good  cheer — "mama  says  she  never 
trusted  you;  that  there  was  just  that  something 

(472) 


APRIL  VISTAS 

about  you  that  didn't  seem  quite — "  Marian 
would  shake  her  head  and  sigh  suggestively,  where 
upon  Mrs.  Owen  would  rebuke  her  and  send  her  off 
to  find  the  candy  in  the  sideboard. 

Allen,  relegated  for  a  time  to  a  sanatorium  in  the 
Adirondacks,  amused  himself  by  telegraphing  to 
Marian  daily;  and  he  usually  managed  to  time  a 
message  to  reach  Mrs.  Owen's  Sunday  dinner  table 
with  characteristic  remembrances  for  all  who  might 
be  in  her  house.  To  Dan  he  wrote  a  letter  com 
mending  his  course  in  the  legislature. 

"  I  always  knew  you  would  get  on  Dad's  side  one 
of  these  days.  The  Great  Experiment  is  making 
headway.  Don't  worry  about  me.  I  'm  going  to  live 
to  be  a  hundred.  There's  really  nothing  the  matter 
with  my  lungs,  you  know.  Dad  just  wanted  an  ex 
cuse  to  come  up  here  himself  (mother  and  the  girls 
used  me  as  an  excuse  for  years,  you  remember). 
He's  doing  big  stunts  tramping  over  the  hills.  You 
remember  that  good  story  Ware  told  us  that  night 
up  in  the  house-boat?  You  would  n't  think  Dad 
would  have  so  much  curiosity,  but  he's  been  over 
there  to  look  at  that  place  Ware  told  about.  He 's 
left  me  now  to  go  down  to  New  York  to  see  the 
lights.  ...  I'm  taking  quite  a  literary  turn.  You 
know,  besides  Emerson  and  those  chaps  who  camped 
with  him  up  here,  Stevenson  was  here,  too,  — 
good  old  R.  L.  S.!" 

Several  times  Sylvia,  Marian,  and  Dan  collabo 
rated  in  a  Sunday  round  robin  to  Allen,  in  the  key  of 
his  own  exuberances. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

HEAT  LIGHTNING 

WE  'LL  finish  the  peaches  to-night,  and  call 
it  a  day's  work,"  remarked  Mrs.  Owen. 
" Sylvia,  you'd  better  give  another  turn 
to  the  covers  on  those  last  jars.  There's  nothing 
takes  the  heart  out  of  a  woman  like  opening  a  can 
of  fruit  in  January  and  finding  mould  on  top. 
There,  Annie,  that's  enough  cinnamon.  Put  in  too 
much  and  your  peaches  will  taste  like  a  drug  store." 

Spicy  odors  floated  from  the  kitchen  of  Mrs. 
Owen's  house  on  Waupegan.  The  August  after 
noon  sun  struck  goldenly  upon  battalions  of  glasses 
and  jars  in  the  broad,  screened  veranda,  an  exten 
sion  of  the  kitchen  itself.  The  newly  affixed  labels 
announced  peach,  crab-apple,  plum,  and  water 
melon  preserves  (if  the  mention  of  this  last  item 
gives  you  no  thrill,  so  much  the  worse  for  you!); 
jellies  of  many  tints  and  flavors,  and  tiny  cucumber 
pickles  showing  dark  green  amid  the  gayer  colors. 
Only  the  most  jaded  appetite  could  linger  without 
sharp  impingements  before  these  condensations  and 
transformations  of  the  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth. 

In  Mrs.  Owen's  corps  of  assistants  we  recognize 
six  young  women  from  Elizabeth  House  —  for  since 
the  first  of  July  Elizabeth  House  has  been  con 
stantly  represented  on  Waupegan,  girls  coming  and 

(474) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

going  in  sixes  for  a  fortnight  at  the. farm.  Mrs. 
Owen  had  not  only  added  bedrooms  to  the  rambling 
old  farmhouse  to  accommodate  these  visitors,  but 
she  had,  when  necessary,  personally  arranged  with 
their  employers  for  their  vacations. 

On  the  face  of  it,  the  use  of  her  farm  as  a  summer 
annex  to  the  working  girls'  boarding-house  in  town 
was  merely  the  whim  of  a  kind-hearted  old  woman 
with  her  own  peculiar  notions  of  self-indulgence.  A 
cynical  member  of  the  summer  colony  remarked  at 
the  Casino  that  Mrs.  Owen,  with  characteristic  thrift, 
was  inveigling  shop-girls  to  her  farm  and  then  put 
ting  them  to  work  in  her  kitchen.  Mrs.  Owen's  real 
purpose  was  the  study  of  the  girls  in  Elizabeth  House 
with  a  view  to  determining  their  needs  and  aptitude: 
she  was  as  interested  in  the  woman  of  forty  perma 
nently  planted  behind  a  counter  as  in  the  gayest 
eighteen-year-old  stenographer.  An  expert  had  built 
for  her  that  spring  a  model  plant  for  poultry  rais 
ing,  an  industry  of  which  she  confessed  her  own  ig 
norance,  and  she  found  in  her  battery  of  incubators 
the  greatest  delight. 

"When  a  woman  has  spent  twenty  years  behind 
a  counter,  Sylvia,  or  working  a  typewriter,  she 
has  n't  much  ahead  of  her.  What's  the  matter  with 
ducks?" 

They  made  prodigious  calculations  of  all  sorts  that 
summer,  and  continued  their  study  of  catalogues. 
Mrs.  Owen  expected  to  visit  the  best  vocational 
schools  in  the  country  during  the  fall  and  winter. 
The  school  could  not  be  a  large  one,  but  it  must 
be  wisely  planned.  Mrs.  Owen  had  already  sum- 

(475) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

marized  her  ideas  on  a  sheet  of  paper  in  the  neat, 
Italian  script  which  the  daguerreotype  ladies  of  our 
old  seminaries  alone  preserve  for  us.  The  students 
of  the  proposed  school  were  to  be  girls  between  fif 
teen  and  eighteen,  who  were  driven  by  necessity 
into  shops,  factories,  and  offices.  None  should  be 
excluded  for  lack  of  the  knowledge  presupposed  in 
students  ready  for  high  school,  and  the  general  courses 
were  to  be  made  flexible  so  that  those  who  entered 
deficient  might  be  brought  to  a  fixed  standard.  The 
vocational  branches  were  the  most  difficult,  and  at 
Sylvia's  suggestion  several  well-known  authorities 
on  technical  education  were  called  into  conference. 
One  of  these  had  visited  Waupegan  and  expressed 
his  enthusiastic  approval  of  Mrs.  Owen's  plans.  She 
was  anxious  to  avoid  paralleling  any  similar  work, 
public  or  private.  What  the  city  schools  did  in  man 
ual  training  was  well  enough,  and  she  did  not  mean 
to  compete  with  the  state's  technical  school,  or  with 
its  reformatory  school  for  erring  girls.  The  young 
girl  about  to  take  her  place  behind  the  ribbon  coun 
ter,  or  at  a  sewing-machine  in  a  garment  factory, 
or  as  a  badly  equipped,  ignorant,  and  hopeless  steno 
grapher,  was  the  student  for  whom  in  due  course 
the  school  should  open  its  doors.  Where  necessary, 
the  parents  of  the  students  were  to  be  paid  the  wages 
their  daughters  sacrificed  in  attending  school  during 
the  two-year  course  proposed.  The  students  were  to 
live  in  cottages  and  learn  the  domestic  arts  through 
their  own  housekeeping,  the  members  of  each  house 
hold  performing  various  duties  in  rotation.  The 
school  was  to  continue  in  session  the  year  round,  so 

(476) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

that  flower-  and  kitchen-gardening  might  take  rani 
with  dressmaking,  cooking,  fruit  culture,  poultry 
raising,  and  other  branches  which  Mrs.  Owen  pro 
posed  to  have  taught. 

"I  can't  set  'em  all  up  in  business,  but  I  want  £ 
girl  that  goes  through  the  school  to  feel  that  she 
won't  have  to  break  her  back  in  an  overall  factor} 
all  her  life,  or  dance  around  some  floor-walker  witf 
a  waxed  mustache.  They  tell  me  no  American  gir 
who  has  ever  seen  a  trolley  car  will  go  into  a  kitcher 
to  work  —  she  can't  have  her  beaux  going  round  tc 
the  back  door.  Sylvia,  we've  got  to  turn  out  cooks 
that  are  worth  going  to  kitchen  doors  to  see!  Now 
I  've  taught  you  this  summer  how  to  make  curranl 
jelly  that  you  need  n't  be  ashamed  of  anywhere  or 
earth,  and  it  did  n't  hurt  you  any.  A  white  womar 
can't  learn  to  cook  the  way  darkies  do,  just  by  in 
stinct.  That's  a  miracle,  by  the  way,  that  I  nevei 
heard  explained  —  how  these  colored  women  cook  as 
the  good  ones  do  —  those  old-fashioned  darkies  whc 
take  the  cook  book  out  of  your  hand  and  look  at  it 
upside  down  and  grin  and  say,  'Yes,  Miss  Sally,1 
when  they  can't  read  a  word!  You  catch  a  clean, 
wholesome  white  girl  young  enough,  and  make  her 
understand  that  her  kitchen 's  a  laboratory,  and  her 
work  something  to  be  proud  of,  and  she'll  not  have 
any  trouble  finding  places  to  work  where  they  won't 
ask  her  to  clean  out  the  furnace  and  wash  the 
automobile." 

The  Bassetts  had  opened  their  cottage  early  and 
Morton  Bassett  had  been  at  the  lake  rather  more 
constantly  than  in  previous  summers.  Marian  was 

(477) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

off  on  a  round  of  visits  to  the  new-found  friends  that 
were  the  fruit  of  her  winter  at  the  capital.  She  was 
much  in  demand  for  house  parties,  and  made  her 
engagements,  quite  independently  of  her  parents, 
for  weeks  and  fortnights  at  widely  scattered  mid- 
Western  resorts.  Mrs.  Bassett  was  indulging  in  the 
luxury  of  a  trained  nurse  this  summer,  but  even  with 
this  reinforcement  she  found  it  impossible  to  manage 
Marian.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that  Mrs.  Owen's 
philanthropic  enterprises  occasioned  her  the  greatest 
alarm.  It  was  enough  that  "that  girl"  should  be 
spending  the  summer  at  Waupegan,  without  bringing 
with  her  all  her  fellow  boarders  from  Elizabeth 
House. 

Mrs.  Bassett  had  now  a  tangible  grievance  against 
her  husband.  Blackford's  course  at  the  military 
school  he  had  chosen  for  himself  had  been  so  unsatis 
factory  that  his  father  had  been  advised  that  he 
would  not  be  received  for  another  year.  It  was  now 
Mrs.  Bassett's  turn  to  cavil  at  her  husband  for  the 
sad  mess  he  had  made  of  the  boy's  education.  She 
would  never  have  sent  Blackford  to  a  military  school 
if  it  had  been  her  affair;  she  arraigned  her  husband 
for  having  encouraged  the  boy  in  his  dreams  of  West 
Point. 

Blackford's  father  continuing  indifferent,  Mrs. 
Bassett  rose  from  bed  one  hot  August  day  filled 
with  determination.  Blackford,  confident  of  im 
munity  from  books  through  the  long  vacation, 
was  enjoying  himself  thoroughly  at  the  lake.  He 
was  a  perfectly  healthy,  good-natured  lad,  whose 
faults  were  much  like  those  of  the  cheerful,  undis- 

(478) 


HEAT    LIGHTNING 

ciplined  Marian.  His  mother  scanned  the  reports  of 
Blackford's  demerits  and  decided  that  he  required 
tutoring  immediately.  She  thereupon  reasoned  that 
it  would  score  with  her  aunt  if  she  employed  "that 
girl"  to  coach  the  delinquent  Blackford.  It  would 
at  any  rate  do  no  harm  to  manifest  a  friendly  interest 
in  her  aunt's  protegee,  who  would  doubtless  be  glad 
of  a  chance  to  earn  a  little  pin-money.  She  first  pro 
posed  the  matter  to  her  aunt,  who  declared  promptly 
that  it  must  be  for  Sylvia  to  say;  that  Sylvia  was 
busy  writing  a  book  (she  was  revising  her  grand 
father's  textbook),  besides  helping  to  entertain  the 
Elizabeth  House  guests;  but  when  the  matter  was 
referred  to  Sylvia,  she  cheerfully  agreed  to  give 
Blackford  two  hours  a  day. 

Sylvia  quickly  established  herself  on  terms  of  good 
comradeship  with  her  pupil.  Blackford  was  old  enough 
to  find  the  proximity  of  a  pretty  girl  agreeable,  and 
Sylvia  was  sympathetic  and  encouraging.  When  he 
confided  to  her  his  hopes  of  a  naval  career  (he  had 
finally  renounced  the  Army)  Sylvia  sent  off  to 
Annapolis  for  the  entrance  requirements.  She  told 
him  of  her  Grandfather  Kelton's  service  in  the  Navy 
and  recounted  some  of  the  old  professor's  exploits  in 
the  Civil  War.  The  stories  Sylvia  had  heard  at  her 
grandfather's  knee  served  admirably  as  a  stimulus. 
As  the  appointments  to  Annapolis  had  to  be  won  in 
competitive  examinations  she  soon  persuaded  him 
that  the  quicker  he  buckled  down  to  hard  study  the 
sooner  he  would  attain  the  goal.  This  matter  ar 
ranged,  Mrs.  Bassett  went  back  to  bed,  where  she 
received  Sylvia  occasionally  and  expressed  her  sor- 

(479) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

row  that  Mrs.  Owen,  at  her  time  of  life,  should  be 
running  a  boarding-house  for  a  lot  of  girls  who  were 
better  off  at  work.  Her  aunt  was  merely  making 
them  dissatisfied  with  their  lot.  She  did  not  guess 
the  import  of  the  industries  in  Mrs.  Owen's  kitchen, 
as  reported  through  various  agencies;  they  were 
merely  a  new  idiosyncracy  of  her  aunt's  old  age,  a 
deplorable  manifestation  of  senility. 

Sylvia  was  a  comfortable  confessor;  Mrs.  Bassett 
said  many  things  to  her  that  she  would  have  liked  to 
say  to  Mrs.  Owen,  with  an  obscure  hope  that  they 
might  in  due  course  be  communicated  to  that  inex 
plicable  old  woman.  And  Sylvia  certainly  was  past- 
mistress  of  the  difficult  art  of  brushing  hair  without 
tangling  and  pulling  it,  thereby  tearing  one's  nerves 
to  shreds  —  as  the  nurse  did.  Mrs.  Owen's  visits 
were  only  occasional,  but  they  usually  proved  dis 
turbing.  She  sniffed  at  the  nurse  and  advised  her 
niece  to  get  up.  She  knew  a  woman  in  Terre  Haute 
who  went  to  bed  on  her  thirtieth  birthday  and  left  it 
only  to  be  buried  in  her  ninetieth  year.  Sylvia  was 
a  far  more  consoling  visitor  to  this  invalid  propped 
up  on  pillows  amid  a  litter  of  magazines,  with  the 
cool  lake  at  her  elbow.  Sylvia  did  not  pooh-pooh 
Christian  Science  and  New  Thought  and  such  things 
with  which  Mrs.  Bassett  was  disposed  to  experiment. 
Sylvia  even  bestowed  upon  her  a  boon  in  the  shape 
of  the  word  "psychotherapy."  Mrs.  Bassett  liked 
it,  and  declared  that  if  she  read  a  paper  before 
the  Fraserville  Woman's  Club  the  next  winter  — 
a  service  to  which  she  was  solemnly  pledged  — 
psychotherapy  should  be  her  subject.  Thus  Mrs. 

(480) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

Bassett  found  Sylvia  serviceable  and  comforting. 
And  the  girl  knew  her  place,  and  all. 

Morton  Bassett  found  Sylvia  tutoring  his  son  one 
day  when  he  arrived  at  Waupegan  unexpectedly. 
Mrs.  Bassett  explained  the  arrangement  privately 
in  her  own  fashion. 

"You  seem  to  take  no  interest  in  your  children, 
Morton.  I  thought  Blackford  was  your  particular 
pride,  but  the  fact  that  he  was  practically  expelled 
from  school  seemed  to  make  not  the  slightest  im 
pression  on  you.  I  thought  that  until  you  did  realize 
that  the  boy  was  wasting  his  time  here,  I'd  take 
matters  into  my  own  hands.  Miss  Garrison  seems 
perfectly  competent;  she  tells  me  Blackford  is  very 
quick  —  all  he  needs  is  application." 

"I  had  n't  got  around  to  that  yet,  Hallie.  I'd 
intended  taking  it  up  this  week.  I'm  very  busy," 
murmured  Bassett. 

His  wife's  choice  of  a  tutor  seemed  inconsistent 
with  her  earlier  animosity  toward  Sylvia,  but  he 
shrank  from  asking  explanations.  Mrs.  Bassett  had 
grown  increasingly  difficult  and  arbitrary. 

"That's  the  American  father  all  over!  Well,  I 've 
done  my  duty." 

' '  No  doubt  it 's  a  good  arrangement.  We ' ve  got  to 
keep  Blackford  in  hand.  Where's  Marian?" 

"She's  visiting  the  Willings  at  their  place  at 
Whitewater.  She's  been  gone  a  week." 

"The  Willings?  Not  those  Burton  Willings?  How 
did  that  happen;  —  I  don't  believe  we  care  to  have 
her  visit  the  Willings." 

"They  are  perfectly  nice  people,"  she  replied 

(481) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

defensively,  "and  Marian  knew  their  daughter  at 
school.  Allen  Thatcher  is  in  the  party,  and  they're 
all  people  we  know  or  know  about." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  Marian  visiting  around 
promiscuously.  I  know  nothing  about  the  family, 
but  I  don't  care  for  Willing.  And  we've  had  enough 
of  young  Thatcher.  Marian 's  already  seen  too  much 
of  him." 

"Allen's  a  perfectly  nice  fellow.  It  isn't  fair  to 
dislike  him  on  his  father's  account.  Allen  is  n't  a  bit 
like  his  father;  but  even  if  he  were  you  used  to  think 
well  enough  of  Ed  Thatcher." 

This  shot  was  well  aimed,  and  Bassett  blinked,  but 
he  felt  that  he  must  exercise  his  parental  authority. 
If  he  had  been  culpable  in  neglecting  Blackford  he 
could  still  take  a  hand  in  Marian's  affairs. 

"So  I  did,"  he  replied.  "But  I'm  going  to  tele 
graph  Marian  to  come  home.  What's  the  Willings' 
address?" 

"Oh,  you'll  find  it  on  a  picture  postal  card  some 
where  about.  I'll  write  Marian  to  come  home;  but 
I  would  n't  telegraph  if  I  were  you,  Morton.  And 
if  you  don't  like  my  employing  Miss  Garrison,  you 
can  get  rid  of  her :  I  merely  felt  that  something  had 
to  be  done.  I  turn  it  all  over  to  you,"  she  ended 
mournfully. 

"Oh,  I  have  no  objections  to  Miss  Garrison. 
We'll  see  how  Blackford  gets  on  with  her." 

Bassett  was  troubled  by  other  things  that  summer 
than  his  son's  education.  Harwood's  declaration  of 
war  in  the  White  River  Canneries  matter  had 
proved  wholly  disagreeable,  and  Fitch  had  not  been 

(482) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

able  to  promise  that  the  case  might  not  come  to 
trial,  to  Bassett's  discomfiture.  It  was  a  hot  sum 
mer,  and  Bassett  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in 
his  office  at  the  Boordman  Building,  where  Har- 
wood's  name  no  longer  adorned  the  door  of  Room  66. 
The  '  Advertiser  '  continued  to  lay  on  the  lash  for 
his  defeat  of  the  appropriations  necessary  to  sustain 
several  important  state  institutions  while  he  car 
ried  through  his  corporation  bill.  They  were  say 
ing  in  some  quarters  that  he  had  lost  his  head,  and 
that  he  was  now  using  his  political  power  for  per 
sonal  warfare  upon  his  enemies.  Thatcher  loomed 
formidably  as  a  candidate  for  the  leadership,  and 
many  predicted  that  Bassett's  power  was  at  last 
broken.  On  the  other  hand,  Bassett's  old  lieuten 
ants  smiled  knowingly;  the  old  Bassett  machine 
was  still  in  perfect  running  order,  they  said,  as 
Thatcher  would  learn  when  he  felt  the  wheels  grind 
ing  him. 

Bassett  saw  Sylvia  daily,  and  he  was  wary  of  her 
at  first.  She  had  dealt  him  a  staggering  blow  that 
rainy  evening  at  the  door  of  Elizabeth  House  —  a 
blow  which,  from  her,  had  an  effect  more  poignant 
than  she  knew.  That  incident  was  ended,  however, 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  her. 
No  one  appreciates  candor  so  thoroughly  as  the 
man  who  is  habitually  given  to  subterfuge,  evasion, 
and  dissimulation.  Sylvia's  consent  to  tutor  Black- 
ford  indicated  a  kindly  feeling  toward  the  family.  It 
was  hardly  likely  that  she  would  report  to  Mrs. 
Bassett  his  indiscretions  with  Rose  Farrell.  And 
his  encounters  with  Sylvia  had  moreover  encouraged 

(483) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  belief  that  she  viewed  life  broadly  and  toler 
antly. 

There  was  little  for  a  man  of  Bassett's  tastes  to  do 
at  Waupegan.  Most  of  the  loungers  at  the  Casino 
were  elderly  men  who  played  bridge,  which  he 
despised ;  and  he  cared  little  for  fishing  or  boating. 
Tennis  and  golf  did  not  tempt  him.  His  wife  had 
practically  ceased  to  be  a  figure  in  the  social  life  of 
the  colony;  Marian  was  away,  and  Blackford's 
leisure  was  spent  with  boys  of  his  own  age.  Morton 
Bassett  was  lonely. 

It  thus  happened  that  he  looked  forward  with 
growing  interest  to  Sylvia's  daily  visits  to  his  house. 
He  found  that  he  could  mark  her  progress  from  Mrs. 
Owen's  gate  round  the  lake  to  his  own  cottage  from 
the  window  of  a  den  he  maintained  in  the  attic.  He 
remained  there  under  the  hot  shingles,  conscious  of 
her  presence  in  his  house  throughout  her  two  hours 
with  Blackford.  Once  or  twice  he  took  himself  off  to 
escape  from  her;  but  on  these  occasions  he  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  he  was  back  on  the  veranda  when 
Sylvia  emerged  from  the  living-room  with  her  pupil. 
She  was  always  cheery,  and  she  never  failed  to  say 
something  heartening  of  Blackford's  work. 

A  number  of  trifling  incidents  occurred  to  bring 
them  together.  The  cook  left  abruptly,  and  Mrs. 
Bassett  was  reduced  to  despair.  Bassett,  gloomily 
pacing  his  veranda,  after  hearing  his  wife's  arraign 
ment  of  the  world  in  general  and  domestic  servants 
in  particular,  felt  the  clouds  lift  when  Sylvia  came 
down  from  a  voluntary  visit  to  the  invalid.  He 
watched  her  attack  the  problem  by  long-distance 

(484) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

telephone.  Sensations  that  were  new  and  strange 
and  sweet  assailed  him  as  he  sat  near  in  the  living- 
room  of  his  own  house,  seeing  her  at  the  telephone 
desk  by  the  window,  hearing  her  voice.  Her  patience 
in  the  necessary  delays  while  connection  was  made 
with  the  city,  her  courtesy  to  her  unseen  auditors, 
the  smile,  the  occasional  word  she  flung  at  him  —  as 
much  as  to  say,  of  course  it's  bothersome  but  all  will 
soon  come  right !  —  these  things  stirred  in  him  a 
wistfulness  and  longing  such  as  the  hardy  oak  must 
feel  when  the  south  wind  touches  its  bare  boughs 
with  the  first  faint  breath  of  spring. 

"It's  all  arranged — fixed — accomplished!"  Syl 
via  reported  at  last.  " There's  a  cook  coming  by 
the  afternoon  train.  You'll  attend  to  meeting  her? 
Please  tell  Mrs.  Bassett  it's  Senator  Ridgefield's 
cook  who 's  available  for  the  rest  of  the  summer,  as 
the  family  have  gone  abroad.  She's  probably  good 
—  the  agent  said  Mrs.  Ridgefield  had  brought  her 
from  Washington.  Let  me  see!  She  must  have 
Thursday  afternoon  off  and  a  chance  to  go  to  mass 
on  Sunday.  And  you  of  course  stand  the  railroad 
fare  to  and  from  the  lake;  it's  so  nominated  in  the 
bond!" 

She  dismissed  the  whole  matter  with  a  quick 
gesture  of  her  hands. 

Their  next  interview  touched  again  his  domestic 
affairs.  He  had  telegraphed  Marian  to  come  home 
without  eliciting  a  reply,  and  the  next  day  he 
found  in  a  Chicago  newspaper  a  spirited  and  much- 
beheadlined  account  of  the  smashing  of  the  Willings* 
automobile  in  a  collision.  It  seemed  that  they  had 

(485) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

run  into  Chicago  for  a  day's  shopping  and  had  met 
with  this  misadventure  on  one  of  the  boulevards. 
The  Willings'  chauffeur  had  been  seriously  injured. 
Miss  Marian  Bassett,  definitely  described  as  the 
daughter  of  Morton  Bassett,  the  well-known  Indiana 
politician,  had  been  of  the  party.  Allen  Thatcher 
was  another  guest  of  the  Willings,  a  fact  which 
added  to  Bassett's  anger.  He  had  never  visited  his 
hatred  of  Thatcher  upon  Allen,  whom  he  had  re 
garded  as  a  harmless  boy  not  to  be  taken  seriously; 
but  the  conjunction  of  his  daughter's  name  with  that 
of  his  enemy's  son  in  a  newspaper  of  wide  circulation 
in  Indiana  greatly  enraged  him.  It  was  bound  to 
occasion  talk,  and  he  hated  publicity.  The  Willings 
were  flashy  people  who  had  begun  to  spend  noisily 
the  money  earned  for  them  by  an  automobile  patent. 
The  indictment  he  drew  against  Marian  contained 
many  "counts."  He  could  not  discuss  the  matter 
with  his  wife;  he  carefully  kept  from  her  the  news 
paper  story  of  the  smash-up.  The  hotel  to  which  the 
Willings  had  retired  for  repairs  was  mentioned,  and 
Bassett  resolved  to  go  to  Chicago  and  bring  Marian 
home. 

The  best  available  train  passed  Waupegan  Station 
at  midnight,  and  he  sat  alone  on  his  veranda  that 
evening  with  anger  against  Marian  still  hot  in  his 
heart.  He  had  yet  to  apprise  Mrs.  Bassett  of  his 
intended  journey,  delaying  the  moment  as  long  as 
possible  to  minimize  her  inevitable  querulous  moan- 
ings.  Blackford  was  in  his  room  studying,  and 
Bassett  had  grimly  paced  the  veranda  for  half  an 
hour  when  the  nurse  came  down  with  a  request  that 

(486) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

he  desist  from  his  promenade,  as  it  annoyed  Mrs. 
Bassett  in  her  chamber  above. 

He  thereupon  subsided  and  retired  to  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  veranda.  A  four-hour  vigil  lay  before 
him,  and  he  derived  no  calm  from  the  still  stars  that 
faintly  shadowed  the  quiet  waters  below.  He  was 
assailed  by  torments  reserved  for  those  who,  having 
long  made  others  writhe  without  caring  that  they 
suffered,  hear  the  swish  of  the  lash  over  their  own 
heads.  He  had  only  lately  been  conscious  of  his 
growing  irritability.  He  hated  men  who  yield  to 
irritation;  it  was  a  sign  of  weakness,  a  failure  of 
self-mastery.  He  had  been  carried  on  by  a  strong 
tide,  imagining  that  he  controlled  it  and  guided  it. 
He  had  used  what  he  pleased  of  the  apparatus  of 
life,  and  when  any  part  of  the  mechanism  became 
unnecessary,  he  had  promptly  discarded  it.  It 
angered  him  to  find  that  he  had  thrown  away  so 
much,  that  the  mechanism  was  no  longer  as  re 
sponsive  as  it  had  been.  The  very  peace  of  the 
night  grated  upon  him. 

A  light  step  sounded  at  the  end  of  the  veranda. 
A  figure  in  white  was  moving  toward  the  door,  and 
recognizing  Sylvia,  he  rose  hastily  and  advanced  to 
meet  her. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Bassett?  I  ran  over  with  a 
new  grammar  for  Blackford  that  he  will  like  better 
than  the  one  he's  using.  I've  marked  his  lesson  so 
he  can  look  it  over  before  I  come  in  the  morning. 
How  is  Mrs.  Bassett?" 

"She's  very  tired  and  nervous  to-night.  Won't 
you  sit  down?" 

(487) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Thank  you,  no.  If  it  isn't  too  late  I'll  run  up 
and  see  Mrs.  Bassett  for  a  moment." 

11 1  think  you  'd  better  not.  The  nurse  is  trying  to 
get  her  to  sleep." 

"Oh,  then  of  course  I  shan't  stop,"  and  Sylvia 
turned  to  go.  "How  soon  will  Marian  be  home?" 

"To-morrow  evening;  I  'm  going  up  to  get  her  to 
night,"  he  answered  harshly. 

"You  are  going  to  the  Willings  to  come  home 
with  her?"  asked  Sylvia,  surprised  by  his  gruff  ness. 

He  spoke  in  a  lower  tone. 

"You  did  n't  see  to-day's  papers?  She's  been  to 
Chicago  with  those  Willings  and  their  machine  was 
smashed  and  the  chauffeur  hurt.  I  'm  going  to  bring 
her  back.  She  had  no  business  to  be  visiting  the 
Willings  in  the  first  place,  and  their  taking  her  to 
Chicago  without  our  consent  was  downright  im 
pudence.  I  don't  want  Mrs.  Bassett  to  know  of  the 
accident.  I'm  going  up  on  the  night  train." 

It  satisfied  his  turbulent  spirit  to  tell  her  this;  he 
had  blurted  it  out  without  attempting  to  conceal 
the  anger  that  the  thought  of  Marian  roused  in 
him. 

"She  was  n't  hurt?  We  should  be  glad  of  that!" 

Sylvia  lingered,  her  hand  on  the  veranda  rail.  She 
seemed  very  tall  in  the  mellow  starlight.  His  tone 
had  struck  her  unpleasantly.  There  was  no  doubt 
of  his  anger,  or  that  Marian  would  feel  the  force  of 
it  when  he  found  her. 

"Oh,  she  was  n't  hurt,"  he  answered  dully. 

"It's  very  unfortunate  that  she  was  mixed  up  in 
it.  I  suppose  she  ought  to  come  home  now  anyhow." 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

"The  point  is  that  she  should  never  have  gone! 
The  Willings  are  not  the  kind  of  people  I  want  her 
to  know.  It  was  a  great  mistake,  her  ever  going." 

"  Yes,  that  may  be  true,"  said  Sylvia  quietly.  "  I 
don't  believe — " 

"Well — "  he  ejaculated  impatiently,  as  though 
anxious  for  her  to  speak  that  he  might  shatter  any 
suggestion  she  made.  Before  she  came  he  had 
sharply  vizualized  his  meeting  with  Marian  and  the 
Willings.  He  was  impatient  for  the  encounter,  and 
if  Sylvia  projected  herself  in  the  path  of  his  right 
eous  anger,  she  must  suffer  the  consequences. 

"If  I  were  you  I  should  n't  go  to  Chicago,"  said 
Sylvia  calmly.  "I  think  your  going  for  Marian 
would  only  make  a  disagreeable  situation  worse.  The 
Willings  may  not  be  desirable  companions  for  her,  but 
she  has  been  their  guest,  and  the  motor  run  to  Chi 
cago  was  only  an  incident  of  the  visit.  We  ought 
to  be  grateful  that  Marian  was  n't  hurt." 

"Oh,  you  think  so!  You  don't  know  that  her 
mother  had  written  for  her  to  come  home,  and  that 
I  had  telegraphed  her." 

"When  did  you  telegraph  her?"  asked  Sylvia, 
standing  her  ground. 

"Yesterday;  yesterday  morning,  in  care  of  Willing 
at  his  farm  address." 

"Then  of  course  she  didn't  get  your  message; 
she  could  n't  have  had  it  if  the  accident  happened 
in  time  for  this  morning's  Chicago  papers.  It  must 
have  taken  them  all  day  to  get  from  their  place  to 
Chicago." 

"If  she  had  been  at  the  Willings'  where  we  sup- 

(489) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

posed  she  was  she  would  have  got  the  message.  And 
her  mother  had  written  —  twice! " 

"I  still  think  it  would  be  a  serious  mistake  in  all 
the  circumstances  for  you  to  go  up  there  in  a  spirit 
of  resentment  to  bring  Marian  home.  It's  not  ex 
actly  my  business,  Mr.  Bassett.  But  I  'm  thinking 
of  Marian;  and  you  could  hardly  keep  from  Mrs. 
Bassett  the  fact  that  you  went  for  Marian.  It  would 
be  sure  to  distress  her." 

" Marian  needs  curbing;  she's  got  to  understand 
that  she  can't  go  gallivanting  over  the  country 
with  strangers,  getting  her  name  in  the  newspapers. 
I  'm  not  going  to  have  it;  I  'm  going  to  stop  her  non 
sense!" 

His  voice  had  risen  with  his  anger.  Sylvia  saw 
that  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  argument. 

"The  main  thing  is  to  bring  Marian  home,  is  n't 
it,  Mr.  Bassett?" 

"Most  certainly.  And  when  I  get  her  here  she 
shall  stay;  you  may  be  sure  of  that!" 

11 1  understand  of  course  that  you  want  her  back, 
but  I  hope  you  will  abandon  the  idea  of  going  for  her 
yourself.  Please  give  that  up!  I  promise  that  she 
shall  come  home.  I  can  easily  take  the  night  train 
and  come  back  with  her.  What  you  do  afterward 
is  not  my  affair,  but  somehow  I  think  this  is.  Please 
agree  to  my  way  of  doing  it !  I  can  manage  it  very 
easily.  Mrs.  Owen's  man  can  take  me  across  to  the 
train  in  the  launch.  I  shan't  even  have  to  explain 
about  it  to  her,  if  you'd  rather  I  did  n't.  It  will  be 
enough  if  I  tell  her  I  'm  going  on  business.  You 
will  agree,  won't  you  —  please?" 

(490) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

It  was  not  in  his  heart  to  consent,  and  yet  he 
consented,  wondering  that  he  yielded.  The  rescue 
of  Marian  from  the  Willings  was  taken  out  of  his 
hands  without  friction,  and  there  remained  only 
himself  against  whom  to  vent  his  anger.  He  was 
curiously  agitated  by  the  encounter.  The  ironic 
phrases  he  had  already  coined  for  Marian's  dis 
comfiture  clinked  into  the  melting-pot.  Sylvia  was 
turning  away  and  he  must  say  something,  though 
he  could  not  express  a  gratitude  he  did  not  feel.  His 
practical  sense  grasped  one  idea  feebly.  He  felt  its 
imbecility  the  moment  he  had  spoken. 

"You  '11  allow  me,  of  course,  to  pay  your  expenses. 
That  must  be  understood." 

Sylvia  answered  over  her  shoulder. 

"Oh,  yes;  of  course,  Mr.  Bassett.  Certainly." 

He  meant  to  accompany  her  to  Mrs.  Owen's  door, 
but  before  he  could  move  she  was  gone,  running 
along  the  path,  a  white,  ghost-like  figure  faintly  dis 
cernible  through  the  trees.  He  walked  on  tiptoe  to 
the  end  of  the  veranda  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of 
her,  and  waited  till  he  caught  across  the  quiet  night 
the  faint  click  of  Mrs.  Owen's  gate.  And  he  was 
inexpressibly  lonely,  now  that  she  had  gone. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  living-room  and  found 
his  wife  standing  like  an  accusing  angel  by  the  centre 
table.  She  loomed  tall  in  her  blue  tea-gown,  with  her 
brown  braids  falling  down  her  back. 

"Whom  were  you  talking  to,  Morton?"  she  de 
manded  with  ominous  severity. 

"Miss  Garrison  came  over  to  bring  a  book  for 
Blackford.  It's  a  grammar  he  needed  in  his  work." 

(490 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

He  held  up  the  book  in  proof  of  his  assertion,  and 
as  she  tossed  her  head  and  compressed  her  lips  he 
flung  it  on  the  table  with  an  effort  to  appear  at 
ease. 

"She  wanted  him  to  have  it  before  his  lesson  in 
the  morning." 

"She  certainly  took  a  strange  time  to  bring 
it  over  here." 

"It  struck  me  as  very  kind  of  her  to  trouble  about 
it.  You'll  take  cold  standing  there.  I  supposed  you 
were  asleep." 

"I've  no  doubt  you  did,  Morton  Bassett;  but 
how  do  you  suppose  I  could  sleep  when  you  were 
talking  right  under  my  window?  I  had  already  sent 
word  about  the  noise  you  were  making  on  the  ver 
anda." 

"We  were  not  talking  loudly;  I  did  n't  suppose  we 
were  disturbing  you." 

"So  you  were  talking  quietly,  were  you!  Will  you 
please  tell  me  what  you  have  to  talk  to  that  girl 
about  that  you  must  whisper  out  there  in  the 
dark?" 

"Please  be  reasonable,  Hallie.  Miss  Garrison  was 
only  here  a  few  minutes.  And  as  I  knew  noises  on  the 
veranda  had  disturbed  you  I  tried  to  speak  in  a  low 
tone.  We  were  speaking  of  Blackford." 

"Well,  I  'd  like  you  to  know  that  I  employed  that 
girl  to  remedy  your  mistakes  in  trying  to  educate 
Blackford,  and  if  she  has  any  report  to  make  she  can 
make  it  to  me." 

"Very  well,  then.  It  was  only  a  few  days  ago  that 
you  told  me  you  had  done  all  you  were  going  to  do 

(492) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

about  Blackford;  you  gave  me  to  understand  that 
you  washed  your  hands  of  him.  You're  nervous 
and  excited,  —  very  unnecessarily  excited,  —  and 
I  insist  that  you  go  back  to  bed.  I  '11  call  Miss 
Featherstone." 

"Miss  Featherstone  is  asleep  and  you  needn't 
bother  her.  I  'm  going  to  send  her  away  at  the  end  of 
her  week  anyhow.  She  's  the  worst  masseuse  I  ever 
had;  her  clumsiness  simply  drives  me  frantic.  But 
I  never  thought  you  would  treat  me  like  this  — 
entertaining  a  young  woman  on  the  veranda  when 
you  thought  I  was  asleep  and  out  of  the  way.  I  'm 
astonished  at  Miss  Garrison;  I  had  a  better  opinion 
of  her.  I  thought  she  knew  her  place.  I  thought  she 
understood  that  I  employed  her  out  of  kindness;  and 
she's  abused  my  confidence  outrageously." 

"You  can't  speak  that  way  of  that  young  woman; 
she's  been  very  good  to  you.  She's  come  to  see  you 
nearly  every  day  and  shown  you  many  kindnesses. 
It  is  kind  of  her  to  be  tutoring  Blackford  at  all 
when  she  came  to  the  lake  for  rest." 

"Forrest!" 

She  gulped  at  the  enormity  of  this;  it  was  beyond 
belief  that  any  intelligent  being  could  have  been 
deceived  in  a  matter  that  was  as  plain  as  day 
light  to  any  understanding.  "You  think  she  came 
here  for  rest!  Don't  you  know  that  she's  hung  her 
self  around  Aunt  Sally's  neck,  and  that  she's  fill 
ing  Aunt  Sally's  head  with  all  manner  of  wild  ideas? 
She's  been  after  Aunt  Sally's  money  ever  since  she 
saw  that  she  could  influence  her.  Did  you  ever  know 
of  Aunt  Sally's  taking  up  any  other  girl?  Has  she 

(493) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ever  traveled  over  the  country  with  Marian  or  shown 
any  such  interest  in  her  own  flesh  and  blood?" 

"Please  quiet  yourself.  You'll  have  Blackford 
and  the  nurse  down  here  in  a  minute.  You  know 
perfectly  well  that  Aunt  Sally  started  Elizabeth 
House  long  before  she  had  ever  heard  of  this  girl, 
and  you  know  that  your  aunt  is  a  vigorous,  inde 
pendent  woman  who  is  not  led  around  by  anybody." 

Her  nostrils  quivered  and  her  eyes  shone  with 
tears.  She  leveled  her  arm  at  him  rigidly. 

11 1  saw  you  walking  with  that  girl  yesterday! 
When  she  left  here  at  noon  you  came  down  from  the 
den  and  walked  along  to  Aunt  Sally's  gate  with  her. 
I  could  see  you  through  the  trees  from  my  bed, 
laughing  and  talking  with  her.  I  suppose  it  was  then 
you  arranged  for  her  to  come  and  sit  with  you  on  the 
veranda  when  you  thought  I  was  asleep!" 

He  took  a  step  toward  her  and  seized  the  out 
stretched  hand  roughly. 

"You  are  out  of  your  senses  or  you  wouldn't 
speak  in  this  way  of  Miss  Garrison.  She's  been  a 
kind  friend  to  you  all  summer;  you've  told  me  your 
self  how  she 's  gone  up  to  brush  your  hair  and  do  little 
things  for  you  that  the  nurse  could  n't  do  as  well. 
You've  grown  morbid  from  being  ill  so  long,  but 
nothing  was  ever  more  infamous  than  your  insinua 
tions  against  Miss  Garrison.  She's  a  noble  girl  and 
it's  not  surprising  that  Aunt  Sally  should  like  her. 
Everybody  likes  her!" 

Having  delivered  this  blow  he  settled  himself  more 
firmly  on  his  feet  and  glared. 

"Everybody  likes  her!"  she  repeated,  snatching 

(494) 


HEAT  LIGHTNING 

away  her  hand.   "  I'd  like  to  know  how  you  come  to 
know  so  much  about  her." 

"  I  know  enough  about  her:  I  know  all  about  her! " 

"Then  you  know  more  than  anybody  else  does. 
Nobody  else  seems  to  know  anything  about  her ! "  she 
ended  triumphantly. 

"There  you  go  again  with  insinuations!  It's  un 
generous,  it's  unlike  you." 

"Morton  Bassett,"  she  went  on  huskily,  "if  you 
took  some  interest  in  your  own  children  it  would  be 
more  to  your  credit.  You  blamed  me  for  letting 
Marian  go  to  the  Willings'  and  then  telegraphed  for 
her  to  come  home.  It's  a  beautiful  relationship  you 
have  established  with  your  children!  She  hasn't 
even  answered  your  telegram.  But  I  suppose  if  she 
had  you  'd  have  kept  it  from  me.  The  newspapers 
talk  about  your  secretive  ways,  but  they  don't 
know  you,  Morton  Bassett,  as  I  do.  I  suppose  you 
can't  imagine  yourself  entertaining  Marian  on  the 
veranda  or  walking  with  her,  talking  and  laughing, 
as  I  saw  you  with  that  girl." 

"Well,  thank  God  there's  somebody  I  can  talk 
and  laugh  with !  I  'm  glad  to  be  able  to  tell  you  that 
Marian  will  be  home  to-morrow.  You  may  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  if  you  would  let  her  go 
to  the  Willings'  with  Allen  Thatcher  I  can  at  least 
bring  her  back  after  you  failed  to  do  it." 

"So  you  did  hear  from  her,  did  you!  Of  course 
you  could  n't  have  told  me:  I  suppose  you  confide 
in  Miss  Garrison  now,"  she  ended  drearily. 

His  wife's  fatigue,  betrayed  in  her  tired  voice, 
did  not  mitigate  the  stab  with  which  he  wished  to 

(495) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

punish  her  references  to  Sylvia.   And  he  delivered  it 
with  careful  calculation. 

"You  are  quite  right,  Hallie.  I  did  speak  to  Miss 
Garrison  about  Marian.  Miss  Garrison  has  gone  to 
bring  Marian  home.  That's  all;  go  to  bed.'1 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A   CHEERFUL    BRINGER  OF   BAD   TIDINGS 

THE  announcement  that  Harwood  was  pre 
paring  to  attack  the  reorganization  of  the 
White  River  Canneries  corporation  renewed 
the  hopes  of  many  victims  of  that  experiment  in  high 
finance,  and  most  of  the  claims  reached  Dan's  office 
that  summer.  The  legal  points  involved  were  suffi 
ciently  difficult  to  evoke  his  best  energies,  and  he  dug 
diligently  in  the  State  Library  preparing  his  case. 
He  was  enjoying  the  cool,  calm  heights  of  a  new  free 
dom.  Many  older  men  were  eking  out  a  bare  living 
at  the  law,  and  the  ranks  were  sadly  overcrowded, 
but  he  faced  the  future  confidently.  He  meant  to 
practice  law  after  ideals  established  by  men  whose 
names  were  still  potent  in  the  community;  he  would 
not  race  with  the  ambulance  to  pick  up  damage 
suits,  and  he  refused  divorce  cases  and  small  collec 
tion  business.  He  meant  to  be  a  lawyer,  not  a  scan 
dal-hunting  detective  or  pursuer  of  small  debtors 
with  a  constable's  process. 

He  tried  to  forget  politics,  and  yet,  in  spite  of  his 
indifference,  hardly  a  day  passed  that  did  not  bring 
visitors  to  his  office  bent  upon  discussing  the  out 
look.  Many  of  these  were  from  the  country;  men 
who,  like  Ramsay,  were  hopeful  of  at  last  getting  rid 
of  Bassett.  Some  of  his  visitors  were  young  lawyers 

(497) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

like  himself,  most  of  them  graduates  of  the  state 
colleges,  who  were  disposed  to  take  their  politics 
seriously.  Nor  were  these  all  of  his  own  party.  He 
found  that  many  young  Republicans,  affected  by  the 
prevailing  unrest,  held  practically  his  own  views  on 
national  questions.  Several  times  he  gathered  up 
half  a  dozen  of  these  acquaintances  for  frugal  din 
ners  in  the  University  Club  rathskeller,  or  they  met 
in  the  saloon  affected  by  Allen's  friends  of  Lliders's 
carpenter  shop.  He  wanted  them  to  see  all  sides  of 
the  picture,  and  he  encouraged  them  to  crystallize 
their  fears  and  hopes;  more  patriotism  and  less 
partisanship,  they  all  agreed,  was  the  thing  most 
needed  in  America. 

Allen  appeared  in  Dan's  office  unexpectedly  one 
hot  morning  and  sat  down  on  a  chair  piled  with  open 
law  books.  Allen  had  benefited  by  his  month's  so 
journ  in  the  Adirondacks,  and  subsequent  cruises  in 
his  motor  car  had  tanned  his  face  becomingly.  He 
was  far  from  rugged,  but  he  declared  that  he  expected 
to  live  forever. 

"I'm  full  of  dark  tidings!  Much  has  happened 
within  forty-eight  hours.  See  about  our  smash-up 
in  Chicago!  Must  have  read  it  in  the  newspapers?" 

"A  nice,  odorous  mess,"  observed  Dan,  filling  his 
pipe.  "  I  'm  pained  to  see  that  you  go  chasing  around 
with  the  plutocrats  smashing  lamp-posts  in  our  large 
centres  of  population.  That  sort  of  thing  is  bound  to 
establish  your  reputation  as  the  friend  of  the  op 
pressed.  Was  the  chauffeur's  funeral  largely  at 
tended?" 

"Pshaw;  he  was  only  scratched;  we  chucked  him 

(498) 


A  CHEERFUL  BRINGER  OF  BAD  TIDINGS 

into  the  hospital  to  keep  him  from  being  arrested, 
that  was  all.  Look  here,  old  man,  you  don't  seem 
terribly  sympathetic.  Maybe  you  did  n't  notice  that 
it  was  my  car  that  got  smashed!  It  looked  like  a 
junk  dealer's  back  yard  when  they  pulled  us  out. 
I  told  them  to  throw  it  into  the  lake:  I've  just 
ordered  a  new  car.  I  never  cared  for  that  one  much 
anyhow." 

"Another  good  note  for  the  boys  around  Luders's 
joint!  You're  identified  forever  with  the  red-necked 
aristocrats  who  smash  five  thousand  dollar  motors 
and  throw  them  away.  You'd  better  go  out  in  the 
hall  and  read  the  sign  on  the  door.  I  'm  a  lawyer,  not 
a  father  confessor  to  the  undeserving  rich." 

"This  is  serious,  Dan,"  Allen  remonstrated, 
twirling  his  straw  hat  nervously.  "All  that  hap 
pened  in  connection  with  the  smash-up  did  n't  get 
into  the  newspapers." 

"The  'Advertiser'  had  enough  of  it:  they  printed, 
published,  and  uttered  an  extra  with  Marian's 
picture  next  to  yours  on  the  first  page!  You  can't 
complain  of  the  publicity  you  got  out  of  that  light 
adventure.  How  much  space  do  you  think  it  was 
worth?" 

"Stop  chaffing  and  hear  me  out!  I  'm  up  against  a 
whole  lot  of  trouble,  and  I  came  to  get  your  advice. 
You  see,  Dan,  the  Bassetts  did  n't  know  Marian  was 
going  on  that  automobile  trip.  Her  mother  had 
written  her  to  leave  the  Willings1  and  go  home  — 
twice !  And  her  father  telegraphed  —  after  we  left 
the  farm.  She  never  got  the  telegram.  Then,  when 
Mr.  Bassett  read  of  the  smash  in  the  papers,  I  guess 

(499) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

he  was  warm  clear  through.  You  know  he  does  n't 
cut  loose  very  often;  and  — " 

"And  he  jumped  on  the  train  and  went  to  Chicago 
to  snatch  Marian  away  from  the  Willings?  I  should 
think  he  would  have  done  just  that." 

"No;  oh,  no!  He  sent  Sylvia!"  cried  Allen. 
"Sylvia  came  up  on  the  night  train,  had  a  few  words 
privately  with  Marian,  took  luncheon  with  the 
Willings,  all  as  nice  as  you  please,  and  off  she  went 
with  Marian." 

Harwood  pressed  his  thumb  into  his  pipe-bowl 
and  puffed  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Allen,  satisfied 
that  he  had  at  last  caught  his  friend's  attention, 
fanned  himself  furiously  with  his  hat. 

"Well,"  said  Dan  finally,  "there's  nothing  so 
staggering  in  that.  Sylvia's  been  staying  at  the  lake: 
I  suppose  Mrs.  Bassett  must  have  asked  her  to  go  up 
and  bring  Marian  home  when  the  papers  screamed 
her  daughter's  name  in  red  ink.  I  understand  that 
Mrs.  Bassett 's  ill,  and  I  suppose  Bassett  did  n't  like 
to  leave  her.  There's  nothing  fuddlesome  in  that. 
Sylvia  probably  did  the  job  well.  She  has  the  habit. 
What  is  there  that  troubles  you  about  it,  Allen?" 

His  heart  had  warmed  at  the  mention  of  Sylvia, 
and  he  felt  more  kindly  toward  Allen  now  that  she 
had  flashed  across  his  vision.  Many  times  a  day  he 
found  Sylvia  looking  up  at  him  from  the  pages  of  his 
books;  this  fresh  news  brought  her  near.  Sylvia's 
journey  to  Chicago  argued  an  intimacy  with  the 
Bassetts  that  he  did  not  reconcile  with  his  knowledge 
of  her  acquaintance  with  the  family.  He  was 
aroused  by  the  light  touch  of  Allen's  hand  on  his 

(500) 


A  CHEERFUL  BRINGER  OF  BAD  TIDINGS 

knee.  The  young  man  bent  toward  him  with  a 
bright  light  in  his  eyes. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "Marian  and  I  are 
engaged!" 

"You're  what?"  bellowed  Dan. 

"We're  engaged,  old  man;  we're  engaged!  It 
happened  there  at  the  Willings'.  You  know  I  think 
I  loved  her  from  the  very  first  time  I  saw  her!  It's 
the  beautifullest  thing  that  ever  came  into  my  life. 
You  don't  know  how  happy  I  am:  it's  the  kind  of 
happiness  that  makes  you  want  to  cry.  Oh,  you 
don't  know;  nobody  could  ever  know!" 

Dan  rose  and  paced  the  floor,  while  Allen  stood 
watching  him  eagerly  and  pouring  his  heart  out. 
Dan  felt  that  tragedy  loomed  here.  He  did  not 
doubt  Allen's  sincerity;  he  was  not  unmoved  by  his 
manner,  his  voluble  description  of  all  the  phases  of 
his  happiness.  Allen,  with  all  his  faults  and  weak 
nesses,  had  nevertheless  a  sound  basis  of  character. 
Harwood's  affection  for  him  dated  from  that  first 
encounter  in  the  lonely  Meridian  Street  house  when 
the  boy  had  dawned  upon  him  in  his  overalls  and 
red  silk  stockings.  He  had  never  considered  Allen's 
interest  in  Marian  serious;  for  Allen  had  to  Dan's 
knowledge  paid  similar  attentions  to  half  a  dozen 
other  girls.  Allen's  imagination  made  a  goddess  of 
every  pretty  girl,  and  Dan  had  settled  down  to  the 
belief  that  his  friend  saw  in  Marian  only  one  of  the 
many  light-footed  Dianas  visible  in  the  city  thor 
oughfares,  whom  he  invested  with  deific  charms 
and  apostrophized  in  glowing  phrases.  But  that  he 
should  marry  Marian  —  Marian,  the  joyous  and 

(501) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

headstrong;  Marian  the  romping,  careless  Thalia  of 
Allen's  bright  galaxy !  She  was  ill-fitted  for  marriage, 
particularly  to  a  dreamy,  emotional  youngster  like 
Allen.  And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  if  she  had  arrived 
at  a  real  appreciation  of  Allen's  fineness  and  gentle 
ness  and  had  felt  his  sweetness  and  charm,  why  not? 

Dan's  common  sense  told  him  that  quite  apart 
from  the  young  people  themselves  there  were  reasons 
enough  against  it.  Dan  had  imagined  that  Allen  was 
content  to  play  at  being  in  love;  that  it  satisfied  the 
romantic  strain  in  him,  just  as  his  idealization  of 
the  Great  Experiment  and  its  actors  expressed  and 
satisfied  his  patriotic  feelings.  The  news  that  he  had 
come  to  terms  of  marriage  with  Marian  was  in  all 
the  circumstances  dismaying,  and  opened  many 
dark  prospects.  Allen  stood  at  the  window  staring 
across  the  roofs  beyond.  He  whirled  round  as  Dan 
addressed  him. 

"Have  you  spoken  to  Mr.  Bassett?  You  know 
that  will  be  the  first  thing,  Allen." 

"That's  exactly  what  I  want  you  to  help  me 
about?  He's  at  Waupegan  now,  and  of  course  I  've 
got  to  see  him.  But  you  know  this  row  between  him 
and  dad  makes  it  hard.  You  know  dad  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  me  —  dear  old  dad !  Of 
course  I  've  told  him.  And  you  'd  be  surprised  to  see 
the  way  he  took  it.  You  know  people  don't  know 
dad  the  way  I  do.  They  think  he's  just  a  rough  old 
chap,  without  any  fine  feeling  about  anything.  And 
mother  and  the  girls  leaving  him  that  way  has  hurt 
him;  it  hurts  him  a  whole  lot.  And  when  I  told  him 
last  night,  up  at  that  big  hollow  cave  of  a  house, 

(502) 


A  CHEERFUL  BRINGER  OF  BAD  TIDINGS 

how  happy  I  was  and  all  that,  it  broke  him  all  up. 
He  cried,  you  know  —  dad  cried! " 

The  thought  of  Edward  G.  Thatcher  in  tears 
failed  to  arrest  the  dark  apprehensions  that  tramped 
harshly  through  Dan's  mind.  As  for  Bassett,  Dan 
recalled  his  quondam  chief's  occasional  flings  at 
Allen,  whom  the  senator  from  Fraser  had  regarded 
as  a  spoiled  and  erratic  but  innocuous  trifler.  Mrs. 
Bassett,  Dan  was  aware,  valued  her  social  position 
highly.  As  the  daughter  of  Blackford  Singleton 
she  considered  herself  unassailably  a  member  of 
the  upper  crust  of  the  Hoosier  aristocracy.  And 
Dan  suspected  that  Bassett  also  harbored  similar 
notions  of  caste. 

Independently  of  the  struggle  in  progress  between 
Thatcher  and  Bassett,  it  was  quite  likely  that  the 
Bassetts  would  look  askance  at  the  idea  of  a  union 
between  their  daughter  and  Edward  Thatcher's 
son,  no  matter  what  might  be  said  in  Allen's  favor. 
Bassett's  social  acceptance  was  fairly  complete,  and 
he  enjoyed  meeting  men  of  distinction.  He  was 
invariably  welcomed  to  the  feasts  of  reason  we  are 
always,  in  our  capital,  proffering  to  the  great  and 
good  of  all  lands  who  pause  for  enlightenment  and 
inspiration  in  our  empurpled  Athens.  He  was  never 
ignored  in  the  choice  of  those  frock-coated  and  silk- 
hatted  non-partisan  committees  that  meet  all  trains 
at  the  Union  Station,  and  quadrennially  welcome 
home  our  eternal  candidates  for  the  joyous  office  of 
Vice-President  of  the  Republic.  He  kept  his  dress 
suit  packed  for  flight  at  Fraserville  free  of  that 
delicate  scent  of  camphor  that  sweetens  the  air  of 

(503) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

provincial  festivals.  Thatcher  never,  to  the  right 
eous,  sensitive,  local  consciousness,  wholly  escaped 
from  the  maltster's  taint,  in  itself  horrible  and  shock 
ing;  nor  did  his  patronage  of  budding  genius  in  the 
prize  ring,  or  his  adventures  (often  noisily  heralded) 
as  a  financial  pillar  of  comic  opera,  tend  to  change  or 
hide  the  leopard's  spots  in  a  community  where  the 
Ten  Commandments  have  n't  yet  been  declared 
unconstitutional,  save  by  plumbers  and  paper- 
hangers.  Women  who  had  never  in  their  lives  seen 
Mrs.  Thatcher  admired  her  for  remaining  in  exile; 
they  knew  she  must  be  (delectable  phrase!)  a  good 
woman. 

"You  know  dad  has  had  an  awful  lonely  time  of 
it,  Dan,  and  if  he  has  done  things  that  have  n't 
sounded  nice,  he's  as  sorry  as  anybody  could  ask. 
You  know  dad  never  made  a  cent  in  his  life  at  poker, 
and  his  horses  have  come  near  busting  him  lots  of 
times.  And  sentiment  against  breweries  over  here 
would  astonish  people  abroad.  It's  that  old  Puritan 
strain,  you  know.  You  understand  all  that,  Dan." 

Dan  grinned  in  spite  of  himself.  It  was  hardly  less 
than  funny  to  attempt  a  defense  of  Ed  Thatcher  by 
invoking  the  shades  of  the  Puritans.  But  Thatcher 
did  love  his  boy,  and  Dan  had  always  given  him  full 
credit  for  that. 

"  Never  mind  the  breweries;  tell  me  the  rest  of  it." 

"Well,"  Allen  continued,  "dad  always  tells  me 
everything,  and  when  I  spoke  of  Marian  he  told  me 
a  lot  of  things.  He  wants  to  put  Bassett  out  of 
business  and  go  to  the  Senate.  Dad's  set  his  heart 
on  that.  I  did  n't  know  that  any  man  could  hate 

(504) 


A  CHEERFUL  BRINGER  OF   BAD  TIDINGS 

another  as  he  hates  Bassett.  That  business  in  the 
state  convention  cut  him  deep;  —  no,  don't  you  say 
a  word!  Dad  hasn't  any  feeling  against  you;  he 
thinks  you  're  a  fine  fellow,  and  he  likes  to  feel  that 
when  you  quit  Bassett  you  put  yourself  on  his  side. 
Maybe  he's  wrong,  but  just  for  my  sake  I  want  you 
to  let  him  think  so.  But  he's  got  it  in  for  Bassett; 
he's  got  his  guns  all  loaded  and  primed.  Dad's 
deeper  than  you  think.  They  used  to  say  that  dad 
was  only  second  fiddle  to  Bassett,  but  you  '11  see  that 
dad  knows  a  thing  or  two." 

Dan  drummed  his  desk.  This  reference  to  Thatch 
er's  ambitions  only  kindled  his  anger  and  he  wished 
that  Allen  would  end  his  confidences  and  take  him 
self  off.  But  he  pricked  up  his  ears  as  Allen  went  on. 

"I'm  telling  you  this  just  to  show  you  how  it 
mixes  up  things  for  Marian  and  me.  I  came  to  you 
for  help,  old  man;  and  I  want  you  to  see  how  hard  it 
is  for  me  to  go  to  Mr.  Bassett  and  tell  him  I  want  to 
marry  Marian." 

"Just  a  minute,  Allen.  Are  you  quite  sure  that 
Marian  has  made  up  her  mind  to  marry  you;  that 
she  really  wants  to  marry  anybody?" 

"I  tell  you  it's  all  fixed!  You  don't  imply  that 
Marian  is  merely  amusing  herself  at  my  expense! 
It  would  n't  be  like  you  to  think  that.  I  have 
always  thought  you  liked  Marian  and  saw  how 
superb  she  is." 

"Of  course  I  like  Marian,"  said  Dan  hastily. 
"My  one  hope  is  that  both  of  you  will  be  happy; 
and  the  difficulties  you  have  suggested  only  make 
that  more  important.  You  will  have  to  wait.  I'm 

(505) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

not  sure  but  that  you  had  better  keep  this  to  your 
selves  for  a  while  —  maybe  for  a  long  time.  It 
would  be  wise  for  you  to  talk  to  Aunt  Sally.  She's 
a  good  friend  of  yours,  and  one  of  the  wisest  of 
women." 

It  was  not  in  Allen's  eye  that  he  sought  wisdom. 
With  him,  as  with  most  people  who  ask  advice, 
advice  was  the  last  thing  he  wanted.  It  was  his  way 
to  unbosom  himself,  however,  and  he  forged  ahead 
with  his  story,  with  what  seemed  to  Harwood  a 
maddening  failure  to  appreciate  its  sinister  import. 
4 'You  remember  that  when  we  were  up  there  on  the 
Kankakee,  John  Ware  told  a  story  one  night  —  a 
mighty  good  story  about  an  experience  he  had 
once?" 

"Yes;  he  told  a  lot  of  stories.  Which  one  do  you 
mean?" 

"Oh,  the  best  one  of  all  —  about  the  woman  in 
the  Adirondacks.  You  have  n't  forgotten  that?" 

"No:  I  do  remember  something  about  it." 

"You  may  not  have  noticed  that  while  Ware  was 
telling  the  story  dad  got  up  from  the  bed  in  the 
corner  and  walked  over  to  the  stove,  after  Ware  had 
asked  you  —  it  was  you,  was  n't  it?  —  to  reach 
into  the  pocket  of  his  coat  over  your  head  and  get 
the  book  he  was  talking  about  —  it  was  you  he 
spoke  to,  was  n't  it?" 

"Yes;  it  comes  back  to  me  now,"  replied  Dan, 
frowning. 

"Well,  I  remember,  because  it  struck  me  as  odd 
that  dad  should  be  interested;  it  was  Emerson,  you 
know;  and  dad  looked  at  the  book  in  the  light  from 

(506) 


A  CHEERFUL  BRINGER  OF  BAD  TIDINGS 

the  stove  and  asked  me  what  the  name  was  down  in 
the  inside  of  the  cover.  It  was  the  binder's  name  in 
small  letters,  —  Z.  Fenelsa.  Well,  there 's  a  long  story 
about  that.  It's  a  horrible  story  to  know  about  any 
man;  but  dad  had  been  trying  to  find  something 
he  could  use  on  Bassett.  He's  had  people  —  the 
sort  you  can  get  to  do  such  jobs  —  going  over  Bas- 
sett's  whole  life  to  find  material.  Dad  says  there's 
always  something  in  every  man's  .life  that  he  wants 
to  hide,  and  that  if  you  keep  looking  you  can  find 
it.  You  see—" 

"I  don't  like  to  see,"  growled  Harwood.  "It's 
an  ugly  idea."  And  then,  with  sudden  scorn  for 
Thatcher's  views  on  man's  frailty,  he  said  with 
emphasis:  " Now,  Allen,  it's  all  right  for  you  to  talk 
to  me  about  Marian,  and  your  wish  to  marry  her; 
but  don't  mix  scandal  up  in  it.  I  'm  not  for  that.  I 
don't  want  to  hear  any  stories  of  that  kind  about 
Bassett.  Politics  is  rotten  enough  at  best  without 
tipping  over  the  garbage  can  to  find  arguments.  I 
don't  believe  your  father  is  going  to  stoop  to  that. 
To  be  real  frank  with  you,  I  don't  think  he  can 
afford  to." 

"You've  got  to  hear  it;  you  can't  desert  me  now. 
I  'm  away  up  in  the  air  this  morning,  and  even  if  you 
do  hate  this  kind  of  thing,  you  've  got  to  see  where 
dad's  hatred  of  Bassett  puts  Marian  and  me." 

"  It  puts  you  clean  out  of  it;  away  over  the  ropes 
and  halfway  home!  That's  where  it  puts  you," 
boomed  Harwood. 

"Well,  you've  got  to  listen,  and  you've  got  to 
tell  me  what  to  do.  Dad  had  already  investigated 

(507) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Bassett's  years  in  New  York,  when  he  was  a  young 
man  studying  in  the  law  school  down  there.  But 
they  could  get  about  so  far  and  no  farther.  It's  a 
long  time  ago  and  all  the  people  Bassett  knew  at 
that  time  had  scattered  to  the  far  corners  of  the 
earth.  But  that  book  struck  dad  all  of  a  heap.  It 
fitted  into  what  he  had  heard  about  Bassett  as  a 
dilettante  book  collector;  even  then  Bassett  was 
interested  in  such  things.  And  you  know  in  that 
account  of  him  you  wrote  in  the  'Courier'  that  I  told 
you  I  had  read  on  the  other  side  that  first  time  we 
met?  Well,  when  dad  and  I  went  to  the  Adirondacks 
it  was  only  partly  on  my  account;  he  met  a  man  up 
there  who  had  been  working  up  Bassett's  past,  and 
dad  went  over  all  the  ground  himself.  It  was  most 
amazing  that  it  should  all  come  out  that  way,  but 
he  found  the  place,  and  the  same  man  is  still  living 
at  the  house  where  the  strange  woman  stayed  that 
Ware  told  about.  I  know  it's  just  as  rotten  as  it  can 
be,  but  dad's  sure  Bassett  was  the  man  who  took 
that  woman  there  and  deserted  her.  It  fits  into  a 
period  when  Bassett  was  n't  in  New  York  and  he 
was  n't  at  Fraserville.  They've  found  an  old  file  of 
the  Fraserville  paper  at  the  State  Library  that 
mentions  the  fact  that  Bassett's  father  was  very  ill 
—  had  a  stroke  —  and  they  had  hard  work  locating 
Bassett,  who  was  the  only  child.  There's  only  one 
missing  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence,  and  that's  the 
woman  herself,  and  her  child  that  was  born  up  there. 
Ware  told  us  that  night  how  he  failed  to  get  track  of 
them  later,  and  dad  lost  the  trail  right  there  too. 
But  that's  all  I  need  tell  you  about  it.  That's  what 

(508) 


A  CHEERFUL  BRINGER  OF  BAD  TIDINGS 

I  've  got  hanging  over  me.   And  dad  won't  promise 
not  to  use  it  on  Bassett  if  he  has  to." 

Harwood's  face  had  gone  white,  but  he  smiled  and 
knit  his  fingers  together  behind  his  head  with  an  air 
of  nonchalance  that  he  did  not  feel.  He  knew  that 
Thatcher  meant  to  drive  Bassett  out  of  politics,  but 
he  had  little  faith  in  Thatcher's  ability  to  do  so.  He 
discredited  wholly  the  story  Allen  had  so  glibly 
recited.  By  Allen's  own  admission  the  tale  was 
deficient  in  what  Harwood's  lawyer's  instinct  told 
him  were  essentials.  The  idea  that  Bassett  could 
ever  have  been  so  stupid  as  to  leave  traces  of  any 
imaginable  iniquities  plain  enough  for  Thatcher  to 
find  them  after  many  years  was  preposterous.  The 
spectacle  of  the  pot  calling  the  kettle  black,  never 
edifying,  aroused  Dan's  ire  against  Thatcher.  And 
Bassett  was  not  that  sort;  his  old  liking  for  the  man 
stirred  to  life  again.  Even  the  Rose  Farrell  incident 
did  not  support  this  wretched  tissue  of  fabrication. 
He  had  hated  Bassett  for  that;  but  it  was  not  for 
the  peccable  Thatcher  to  point  a  mocking  finger  at 
Achilles's  heel. 

"Well,"  said  Allen  impatiently. 

"Well,"  Dan  blurted  contemptuously,  "I  think 
your  father's  stooped  pretty  low,  that's  all.  You 
can  tell  him  for  me  that  if  he 's  digging  in  the  muck- 
pile  for  that  sort  of  thing,  I'm  done  with  him;  I'm 
not  only  done  with  him,  but  if  he  attempts  to  use 
any  such  stuff  as  that,  I  '11  fight  him ;  I  will  raise  a 
war  on  him  that  won't  be  forgotten  in  this  state 
through  all  eternity.  You  tell  him  that;  tell  him  you 
told  me  your  story  and  that's  what  I  said  about  it." 

(509) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

s  '"But,  Dan,  old  man  —  "began  Allen  pleadingly. 

Harwood  shook  his  head  until  his  cowlick  bobbed 
and  danced. 

"You'd  better  get  out  of  here,  Allen.  If  you  think 
you  can  marry  Morton  Bassett's  daughter  with  that 
kind  of  a  scandal  in  your  pocket,  I  tell  you  you  're 
mad  —  you  've  plumb  gone  insane!  Great  God,  boy, 
you  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  words  you  use. 
You  handle  that  thing  like  a  child  with  a  loaded 
pistol.  Don't  you  see  what  that  would  mean  —  to 
Marian,  to  Blackford,  to  Mrs.  Bassett  —  to  Aunt 
Sally!  Now,  you  want  my  advice,  or  you  said  you 
did,  and  I  'm  going  to  give  you  some.  You  go  right 
down  to  that  bank  over  there  on  the  corner  and  buy 
a  steamer  ticket  and  a  long  letter  of  credit.  Then 
take  the  first  train  for  New  York  and  go  back  to 
your  mother  and  stay  there  till  I  send  for  you  to 
come  home.  I  mean  that  —  every  word  of  it.  If  you 
don't  skip  I  'm  damned  if  I  don't  go  to  Bassett  and 
tell  him  this  whole  rotten  story." 

Allen,  the  tears  glistening  in  his  frightened  eyes, 
turned  toward  the  door. 

"Good-bye,  Dan,  old  man;  I'm  sorry  it  had  to 
end  this  way.  I'm  disappointed,  that's  all." 

He  .paused  after  opening  the  door,  hoping  to  be 
called  back,  but  Harwood  had  walked  to  the  window 
and  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  staring  into 
the  street. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

A   SONG  AND  A   FALLING   STAR 

THIS  was  on  Friday,  and  Harwood  took  the 
afternoon  train  for  Waupegan.  He  had 
found  that  when  he  was  tired  or  lonely  or 
troubled  he  craved  the  sight  of  Sylvia.  Sylvia  alone 
could  restore  his  equanimity;  Sylvia  who  worked 
hard  but  never  complained  of  weariness;  Sylvia  who 
saw  life  steadily  and  saw  it  whole,  where  he  caught 
only  fitful,  distorted  glimpses.  Yes;  he  must  see 
Sylvia.  Not  only  must  he  see  her  but  there  were 
things  he  meant  to  say  to  her. 
•  He  needed  Sylvia.  For  several  months  he  had 
been  sure  of  that.  He  loved  her  and  he  meant  to 
marry  her.  Since  leaving  college  he  had  indulged  in 
several  more  or  less  ardent  flirtations,  but  they  had 
ended  harmlessly;  it  was  very  different  with  Sylvia! 
He  had  realized  all  that  spring  that  she  was  becom 
ing  increasingly  necessary  to  him;  he  needed  her 
solace  and  her  inspiration.  He  thrust  one  or  two 
new  books  on  the  prevailing  social  unrest  into  his 
suit  case  and  added  a  box  of  candy,  smiling  at  the 
combination.  Sylvia  with  all  her  ideals  was  still  so 
beautifully  human.  She  was  quite  capable  of  nib 
bling  bon-bons  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  vivacious 
discussion  of  the  sorrows  of  the  world  —  he  had  seen 
her  do  just  that!  With  her  ideals  of  life  and  service, 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

she  would  not  be  easily  won ;  but  he  was  in  the  race 
to  win.  Yes,  there  were  things  he  meant  to  say  to 
Sylvia,  and  in  the  tedious  journey  through  the  hot 
afternoon  to  Waupegan  he  formulated  them  and 
visualized  the  situations  in  which  he  should  utter 
them. 

Dan  reached  Waupegan  at  six  o'clock  and  went  to 
one  of  the  little  inns  at  the  lakeside  near  the  village. 
He  got  into  his  flannels,  ate  supper,  and  set  off  for 
Mrs.  Owen's  with  his  offerings  on  the  seven  o'clock 
boat.  In  the  old  days  of  his  intimacy  with  Bassett 
he  had  often  visited  Waupegan,  and  the  breach  be 
tween  them  introduced  an  element  of  embarrassment 
into  his  visit.  He  was  very  likely  to  meet  his  former 
chief,  who  barely  bowed  to  him  now  when  they  met 
in  hotels  or  in  the  streets  of  the  capital. 

Jumping  aboard  the  steamer  just  as  it  was  pulling 
out,  he  at  once  saw  Bassett  sitting  alone  in  the  bow. 
There  were  only  a  few  other  passengers,  and  hearing 
Dan's  step  on  the  deck  behind  him,  Bassett  turned 
slightly,  nodded,  and  then  resumed  his  inspection 
of  the  farther  shore  lines.  A  light  overcoat  lay  across 
his  knees,  and  the  protruding  newspapers  explained 
his  visit  to  the  village.  Dan  found  a  seat  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  deck,  resolved  to  accept  Bassett's 
own  definition  of  their  relations  —  markedly  ex 
pressed  in  Bassett's  back  and  shoulders  that  were 
stolidly  presented  to  him.  Dan,  searching  out  the 
lights  that  were  just  beginning  to  blink  on  the  dark 
ling  shores,  found  the  glimmering  lanterns  of  Mrs. 
Owen's  landing.  Sylvia  was  there !  It  was  Sylvia  he 
had  come  to  see,  and  the  coldness  with  which  Mor- 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

ton  Bassett  turned  his  back  upon  him  did  not  matter 
in  the  least.  It  was  his  pliability  in  Bassett's  hands, 
manifested  at  the  convention  where  he  had  appeared 
as  the  boss's  spokesman,  that  had  earned  him  Syl 
via's  first  rebuke. 

He  was  thinking  of  this  and  of  Sylvia  when  Bas 
sett  left  his  chair  and  crossed  the  deck.  Dan  barely 
turned  his  head,  thinking  he  was  merely  changing 
his  seat  for  a  better  view;  but  as  Bassett  stopped  in 
front  of  him,  Dan  rose  and  pushed  forward  a  chair. 

"No,  thank  you;  I  suppose  you  came  up  on  the 
evening  train.  I  just  wondered  whether  you  saw 
Fitch  to-day." 

"No,  sir;  I  didn't  see  him;  I  didn't  know  he 
wanted  to  see  me." 

"He  was  here  yesterday  and  probably  hadn't 
had  time  to  see  you  before  you  left  town.  He  had 
a  proposition  to  make  in  that  Canneries  case." 

"I  did  n't  know  that,  of  course,  or  I  should  have 
waited.  I  've  never  had  any  talk  with  him  about  the 
Canneries  business." 

"So  he  said." 

Bassett  clapped  his  hand  savagely  upon  his  hat 
suddenly  to  save  it  from  the  breeze  that  had  been 
roused  by  the  increasing  speed  of  the  boat.  He  clearly 
disliked  having  to  hold  his  hat  on  his  head.  Dan 
marked  his  old  chief's  irritation.  There  were  deep 
lines  in  Bassett's  face  that  had  only  lately  been 
written  there. 

"I'll  see  him  Monday.  I  only  ran  up  for  a  day 
or  two.  It's  frightfully  hot  at  home." 

Neither  the  heat,   nor   Harwood's  enterprise  in 

(513) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

escaping  from  it,  interested  Bassett,  who  lifted  his 
voice  above  the  thumping  of  the  machinery  to 
say:  — 

"I  told  Fitch  to  talk  to  you  about  that  suit  of 
yours  and  fix  it  up  if  we  can  come  to  terms.  I  told 
him  what  I  'd  stand  for.  I  'm  not  afraid  of  the  suit, 
and  neither  is  Fitch,  and  I  want  you  to  understand 
that.  My  reasons  for  getting  rid  of  it  are  quite  apart 
from  the  legal  questions." 

"It  will  save  time,  Mr.  Bassett,  if  you  tell  Fitch 
that  the  suit  won't  be  dropped  until  all  the  claims 
I  represent  are  paid  in  full.  Several  of  your  asso 
ciates  in  the  reorganization  have  already  sounded 
me  on  that,  and  I  've  said  no  to  all  of  them." 

"Oh,  you  have,  have  you?"  There  was  a  hard 
glitter  in  Bassett's  eyes  and  his  jaws  tightened. 
"All  right,  then;  go  ahead,"  he  added,  and  walked 
grimly  back  to  his  chair. 

When  the  steamer  stopped  at  his  landing,  Bas 
sett  jumped  off  and  began  the  ascent  to  his  house 
without  looking  at  Harwood  again.  Dan  felt  that 
it  had  been  worth  the  journey  to  hear  direct  from 
Bassett  the  intimations  of  a  wish  to  compromise  the 
Canneries  case.  And  yet,  while  the  boat  was  backing 
off,  it  was  without  exultation  that  he  watched  Bas 
sett's  sturdy  figure  slowly  climbing  the  steps.  The 
signs  of  wear,  the  loss  of  the  politician's  old  elastic 
ity,  touched  a  chord  of  pity  in  Harwood's  breast. 
In  the  early  days  of  their  acquaintance  it  had  seemed 
to  him  that  Bassett  could  never  be  beaten;  and  yet 
Dan  had  to-night  read  defeat  in  his  face  and  man 
ner.  The  old  Morton  Bassett  would  never  'have 

(514) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

yielded  an  inch,  never  have  made  overtures  of  com 
promise.  He  would  have  emerged  triumphant  from 
any  disaster.  Harwood  experienced  something  of 
the  sensations  of  a  sculptor,  who,  having  begun  a 
heroic  figure  in  the  grand  manner  of  a  Michael  An- 
gelo,  finds  his  model  shrinking  to  a  pitiful  pygmy. 
As  Bassett  passed  from  sight  he  turned  with  a  sigh 
toward  the  red,  white  and  blue  lanterns  that  adver 
tised  Mrs.  Owen 's  dock  to  the  mariner. 

"Well,  well,  if  it  isn't  Daniel,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Owen,  as  Harwood  greeted  her  and  Sylvia  on  her 
veranda.  "  One  of  the  farm  hands  quit  to-day  and 
you  can  go  to  work  in  the  morning,  Daniel." 
.  "Not  if  I'm  strong  enough  to  run,  Aunt  Sally. 
I'm  going  to  have  forty-eight  hours'  vacation  if  I 
starve  to  death  the  rest  of  my  life." 

Rose  Farrell  had  told  him  that  Mrs.  Owen  was 
entertaining  the  Elizabeth  House  girls  in  install 
ments,  and  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  the  ve 
randa  filled  with  young  women.    Some  of  them  he 
knew  and,  Sylvia  introduced  him  to  the  others. 

"When's  Rose  coming  up?"  asked  Sylvia,  bal 
ancing  herself  on  the  veranda  rail.  "You  know  she 's 
expected." 

"  Do  I  know  she's  expected?  Did  n't  I  have  a  note 
from  you,  Aunt  Sally,  ordering  me  to  send  her  up? 
She's  coming  just  as  soon  as  I  get  back,  but  I  think 
of  staying  forever." 

"A  man  has  come  and  he's  come  to  stay  forever," 
murmured  one  of  the  young  women. 

"Oh,  you're  an  event!"  laughed  Sylvia.  "But 
don't  expect  us  to  spoil  you.  The  sport  for  to-morrow 

(515) 


A   HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

is  tomato  pickles,  and  the  man  who  skipped  to-day 
left  because  Aunt  Sally  wanted  him  to  help  scald  and 
peel  the  tomats.  Your  job  is  cut  out  for  you." 

"All  right,"  he  replied  humbly.  " I'll  do  anything 
you  say  but  plough  or  cut  wood.  My  enchanted 
youth  on  the  farm  was  filled  with  those  delights,  and 
before  I  go  back  to  that  a  swift  Marathon  runner 
must  trip  me." 

He  was  aware  presently  that  one  by  one  the  girls 
were  slipping  away;  he  saw  them  through  the  win 
dows  settling  themselves  at  the  round  table  of  the 
living-room,  where  Mrs.  Owen  was  reading  a  news 
paper.  Not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had 
passed  when  he  and  Sylvia  found  themselves  alone. 

"I  haven't  scarlet  fever  or  anything,"  he  re 
marked,  noting  the  flight  with  satisfaction. 

"I  suppose  we  might  go  inside,  too,"  suggested 
Sylvia  obtusely. 

"Oh,  I  came  up  for  the  fresh  air!  Most  of  my 
nights  lately  have  been  spent  in  a  hot  office  with  not 
even  a  June  bug  for  company.  How  are  the  neigh 
bors?" 

"The  Bassetts?  Oh,  Mrs.  Bassett  is  not  at  all 
well;  Marian  is  at  home  now;  Blackford  is  tutoring 
and  getting  ready  to  take  the  Annapolis  examina 
tions  the  first  chance  he  gets." 

"I  saw  Allen  to-day,"  he  remarked  carelessly. 

She  said  nothing.    He  moved  his  chair  nearer. 

"He  told  me  things  that  scared  me  to  death  — 
among  others  that  he  and  Marian  are  engaged." 

"Yes,  Marian  told  me  that." 

"Ah!    She  really  takes  it  seriously,  does  she?" 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

"  Yes,  she  takes  it  seriously;  why  should  n't  she?" 

"It's  the  first  time  she  ever  took  anything  seri 
ously;  that's  all." 

"Please  don't  speak  of  her  like  that,  Dan.  You 
know  she  and  I  are  friends,  and  I  thought  you 
and  she  were  friends  too.  She  always  speaks  of  you 
in  the  very  kindest  way.  Your  leaving  Mr.  Bassett 
did  n't  make  any  difference  with  her.  And  you  are 
the  greatest  of  Blackford's  heroes  next  to  Nelson 
and  Farragut." 

Dan  laughed. 

"So  it  is  n't  Napoleon,  and  Grant  and  Custer  any 
more?  I'm  glad  he's  settled  down  to  something." 

"He's  a  fine  boy  with  a  lot  of  the  right  stuff  in 
him.  We've  been  having  some  lessons  together." 

"Tutoring  Blackford?  You  '11  have  to  explain  the 
psychological  processes  that  brought  that  about." 

"Oh,  they  're  simple  enough.  He  had  n't  done  well 
in  school  last  year;  Mrs.  Bassett  was  troubled  about 
it.  I  take  him  for  a  couple  of  hours  every  morning. 
Mrs.  Bassett  engaged  me,  and  Mr.  Bassett  approved 
of  the  plan.  Allen  probably  told  you  all  the  news, 
but  he  did  n't  know  just  how  I  came  to  go  to  Chi 
cago  to  bring  Marian  home.  It  was  to  keep  the  news 
of  that  automobile  smash  from  Mrs.  Bassett,  and 
to  save  Marian's  own  dignity  with  the  Willings." 

"  Oh !  You  went  at  her  father's  instance,  did  you?  " 

"Yes.  I  offered  to  go  when  I  found  that  he  was 
very  angry  and  likely  to  deal  severely  and  ungen 
erously  with  Marian.  I  thought  it  would  be  better 
for  me  to  go." 

"As  near  as  I  can  make  out,  you've  taken  the 

(517) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Bassetts  on  your  shoulders.  I  did  n't  suppose  Aunt 
Sally  would  stand  for  that/' 

"Aunt  Sally  does  n't  know  why  I  went  to  Chicago. 
I  assume  Mrs.  Bassett  knows  I  went  to  bring  Marian 
home,  but  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Bassett  told  her 
about  it,  and  I  have  n't  seen  her  since.  It's  possible 
my  going  may  have  displeased  her.  Blackford  came 
here  for  his  lessons  this  morning." 

Dan  moved  uneasily.  The  domestic  affairs  of  the 
Bassetts  did  not  interest  him  save  as  they  involved 
Sylvia.  It  was  like  Sylvia  to  help  them  out  of  their 
scrapes;  but  Sylvia  was  not  a  person  that  he  could 
scold  or  abuse. 

"You  needed  rest  and  it's  too  bad  you've  had  to 
bother  with  their  troubles.  Bassett  was  on  the  boat 
as  I  came  over.  He  had  a  grouch.  He  does  n't  look 
like  a  happy  man." 

11 1  don't  suppose  he  is  altogether  happy.  And  I  Ve 
begged  Marian  not  to  tell  him  she  wants  to  marry 
Allen.  That  would  certainly  not  cheer  him  any, 
right  now." 

"I'm  glad  you  had  a  chance  to  do  that.  I  told 
Allen  to  skip  right  out  for  Europe  and  hang  on  to  his 
mother's  apron  strings  till  I  send  for  him.  This  old 
Capulet  and  Montague  business  does  n't  ring  quite 
true  in  this  twentieth  century;  there's  something 
unreal  about  it.  And  just  what  those  youngsters 
can  see  in  each  other  is  beyond  me." 

"You  must  be  fair  about  that.  We  have  n't  any 
right  to  question  their  sincerity." 

"Oh,  Allen  is  sincere  enough;  but  you'll  have  to 
show  me  the  documents  on  Marian's  side  of  it.  She 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

sees  in  the  situation  a  great  lark.  The  fact  that  her 
father  and  Thatcher  are  enemies  appeals  to  her  ro 
mantic  instincts." 

"  I  think  better  of  it  than  that,  Dan.  She's  a  fine, 
strong,  loyal  girl  with  a  lot  of  hard  common  sense. 
But  that  does  n't  relieve  the  situation  of  its  imme 
diate  dangers.  She's  promised  me  not  to  speak  to 
her  father  yet  —  not  until  she  has  my  consent. 
When  I  see  that  it  can't  be  helped,  I  'm  going  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Bassett  about  it  myself." 

"You  seem  to  be  the  good  angel  of  the  Bassett 
household,"  he  remarked  sullenly.  A  lover's  jeal 
ousy  stirred  in  his  heart;  he  did  not  like  to  think  of 
Sylvia  as  preoccupied  with  the  affairs  of  others,  and 
he  saw  no  peace  or  happiness  ahead  for  Marian  and 
Allen.  "It 's  all  more  wretched  than  you  imagine. 
This  war  between  Thatcher  and  Bassett  has  passed 
the  bounds  of  mere  political  rivalry.  There's  an  im 
placable  hatred  there  that 's  got  to  take  its  course. 
Allen  told  me  of  it  this  morning  when  he  was  trying 
to  enlist  me  in  his  cause  with  Marian.  It's  hideous 
—  a  perfectly  rotten  mess.  Thatcher  is  preparing  a 
poisoned  arrow  for  Bassett.  He 's  raked  up  an  old 
scandal,  an  affair  with  a  woman.  It  makes  my 
blood  run  cold  to  think  of  its  possibilities." 

"But  Mr.  Thatcher  would  n't  do  such  a  thing;  he 
might  threaten,  but  he  would  n't  really  use  that  sort 
of  weapon!" 

"You  don't  know  the  man,  Sylvia.  He  will  risk 
anything  to  break  Bassett  down.  There's  nothing 
respectable  about  Thatcher  but  his  love  for  Allen, 
and  that  does  n't  redeem  everything." 

(519) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"  But  you  won't  let  it  come  to  that.  You  have  in 
fluence  enough  yourself  to  stop  it.  Even  if  you  hated 
him  you  would  protect  Mrs.  Bassett  and  the  child 


ren." 


"  I  could  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Sylvia.  Now  that 
I  've  left  Bassett  my  influence  has  vanished  utterly. 
Besides,  I'm  out  of  politics.  I  hate  the  game.  It's 
rotten  —  rotten  clean  through." 

11 1  don't  believe  it's  quite  true  that  you  have  lost 
your  influence.  I  read  the  newspapers,  and  some 
of  them  are  saying  that  you  are  the  hope  of  your 
party,  and  that  you  have  a  large  following.  But  you 
would  n't  do  that,  Dan;  you  would  n't  lend  yourself 
to  such  a  thing  as  that!" 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure,"  he  replied  doggedly,  angry  that 
they  should  be  discussing  the  subject  at  all,  though 
to  be  sure  he  had  introduced  it.  "A  man's  family 
has  got  to  suffer  for  his  acts;  it 's  a  part  of  the  punish 
ment.  I  'd  like  to  see  Bassett  driven  out  of  politics, 
but  I  assure  you  that  I  don't  mean  to  do  it.  There's 
no  possibility  of  my  having  the  chance.  He  put  me 
in  the  legislature  to  use  me;  and  I'm  glad  that's  all 
over.  As  I  tell  you,  I  'm  out  of  the  game." 

"I  don't  sympathize  with  that  at  all,  Dan;  you 
not  only  ought  to  stay  in,  but  you  ought  to  do  all 
you  can  to  make  it  impossible  for  men  like  Bassett 
and  Thatcher  to  have  any  power.  The  honor  of  the 
state  ought  to  be  dear  to  all  of  us;  and  if  I  belonged 
to  a  party  I  think  I  should  have  a  care  for  its  honor 
too." 

The  time  was  passing.  It  was  not  to  discuss  poli 
tics  that  he  had  gone  to  Waupegan. 

(520) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

"Come,"  he  said.  "Let's  find  a  canoe  and  get 
out  under  the  stars." 

Sylvia  went  for  a  wrap,  and  they  had  soon  em 
barked,  skimming  along  in  silence  for  a  time  till 
they  were  free  of  the  shores.  There  was  no  moon, 
but  the  stars  shone  brilliantly;  a  fitful  west  wind 
scarcely  ruffled  the  water.  Along  the  deep-shad 
owed  shores  the  dock  lanterns  twinkled,  and  above 
and  beyond  them  the  lamps  of  the  cottages  flashed 
and  vanished.  Dan  paddled  steadily  with  a  skilled, 
splashless  stroke.  The  paddle  sank  noiselessly  and 
rose  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  tinkling  drip  as  the 
canoe  parted  the  waters.  There  is  nothing  like  a 
canoe  flight  under  stars  to  tranquilize  a  troubled  and 
perplexed  spirit,  and  Dan  was  soon  won  to  the  mood 
he  sought.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Sylvia,  enfolded  in 
the  silvery-dim  dusk  in  the  bow,  was  a  part  of  the 
peace  of  sky  and  water.  They  were  alone,  away  from 
the  strifes  and  jars  of  the  world,  shut  in  together  as 
completely  as  though  they  had  been  flung  back  for 
unreckoned  ages  into  a  world  of  unbroken  calm. 
The  peace  that  Wordsworth  sought  and  sang  crept 
into  their  blood,  and  each  was  sensible  that  the 
other  knew  and  felt  it  and  that  it  was  grateful  to 
them  both. 

Sylvia  spoke,  after  a  time,  of  immaterial  things, 
or  answered  his  questions  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
constellations  mapped  in  the  clear  arch  above. 

"I  dream  sometimes  of  another  existence,"  she 
said,  "as  I  suppose  every  one  does,  when  I  knew  a 
quiet  lake  that  held  the  stars  as  this  does.  I  even 
think  I  remember  how  it  looked  in  winter,  with  the 


A   HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ice  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  and  of  snow  coming 
and  the  keen  winds  piling  it  in  drifts.  It's  odd,  is  n't 
it?  those  memories  we  have  that  are  not  memories. 
The  metempsychosis  idea  must  have  some  substance. 
We  have  all  been  somebody  else  sometime,  and  we 
clutch  at  the  shadows  of  our  old  selves,  hardly  be 
lieving  they  are  shadows." 

"It's  a  good  deal  a  matter  of  imagination,  is  n't 
it?"  asked  Dan,  idling  with  the  paddle. 

"Oh,  but  I  haven't  a  bit  of  that.  That's  one 
thing  I  'm  not  troubled  with,  and  I  'm  sorry  for  it. 
When  I  look  up  at  the  stars  I  think  of  the  most 
hideous  formulae  for  calculating  their  distances 
from  the  earth.  When  I  read  in  a  novel  that  it  was 
a  night  of  stars,  I  immediately  wonder  what  particu 
lar  stars.  It  used  to  make  dear  Grandfather  Kelton 
furiously  indignant  to  find  a  moon  appearing  in 
novels  contrary  to  the  almanac;  he  used  to  check  up 
all  the  moons,  and  he  once  thought  of  writing  a 
thesis  on  the  '  Erroneous  Lunar  Calculations  of  Re 
cent  Novelists,'  but  decided  that  it  did  n't  really 
make  any  difference.  And  of  course  it  does  n't." 

As  they  discussed  novels  new  and  old,  he  drew  in 
his  paddle  and  crept  nearer  her.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  all  the  influences  of  earth  and  heaven  had 
combined  to  create  this  hour  for  him.  To  be  talking 
to  her  of  books  that  interpreted  life  and  of  life  itself 
was  in  itself  something  sweet;  he  wished  such  com 
radeship  as  this,  made  possible  by  their  common 
interests  in  the  deep,  surging  currents  of  the  century 
in  which  they  lived,  to  go  on  forever. 

Their  discussion  of  Tolstoy  was  interrupted  by  the 

(522) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

swift  flight  of  a  motor  boat  that  passed  near,  raising 
a  small  sea,  and  he  seized  the  paddle  to  steady  the 
canoe.  Then  silence  fell  upon  them. 

"Sylvia!"  he  said  softly;  and  again,  "Sylvia!" 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  silence  and  the  beauty  of 
the  night  were  his  ally,  communicating  to  her  in 
finite  longings  hidden  in  his  heart  which  he  had 
no  words  to  express.  "  I  love  you,  Sylvia ;  I  love  you. 
I  came  up  to-night  to  tell  you  that." 

"Oh,  Dan,  you  must  n't  say  it  —  you  must  never 
say  it!" 

The  canoe  seemed  to  hang  between  water  and 
stars,  a  motionless  argosy  in  a  sea  of  dreams. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  before  you  came  away,"  he 
went  on,  not  heeding;  "I  have  wanted  to  tell  you 
for  a  long  time.  I  want  you  to  marry  me.  I  want  you 
to  help  me  find  the  good  things  ;  I  want  you  to 
help  me  to  stand  for  them.  You  came  just  when 
I  needed  you ;  you  have  already  changed  me,  made 
a  different  man  of  me.  It  was  through  you  that  I 
escaped  from  my  old  self  that  was  weak  and  yielding, 
and  I  shall  do  better;  yes,  I  shall  prove  to  you  that 
I  am  not  so  weak  but  that  I  can  strive  and  achieve. 
Every  word  you  ever  spoke  to  me  is  written  on  my 
heart.  I  need  you,  Sylvia!  " 

"You're  wrong,  you're  terribly  wrong  about  all 
that;  and  it  isn't  fair  to  let  you  say  such  things. 
Please,  Dan !  I  hoped  this  would  never  come  —  that 
we  should  go  on  as  we  have  been,  good  friends,  talk 
ing  as  we  were  a  while  ago  of  the  fine  things,  the 
great  things.  And  it  will  have  to  be  that  way  — 
there  can  be  nothing  else." 

(523) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"  But  I  will  do  my  best,  Sylvia!  I  'm  not  the  man 
you  knew  first ;  you  helped  me  to  see  the  light.  With 
out  you  I  shall  fall  into  the  dark  again.  I  had  to  tell 
you,  Sylvia.  It  was  inevitable  that  I  should  tell  you; 
I  wonder  I  kept  it  to  myself  so  long.  Without  you 
I  should  go  adrift  —  no  bearings,  no  light  anywhere." 

"You  found  yourself,  Dan;  that  was  the  way  of  it. 
I  saw  it  and  appreciated  it  —  it  meant  more  to  me 
than  I  can  tell  you.  I  knew  exactly  how  it  was  that 
you  started  as  you  did;  it  was  part  of  your  fate;  but 
it  made  possible  the  finer  thing.  It's  nothing  in  you 
or  what  you  've  done  or  may  do.  But  I  have  my  own 
work  to  do.  I  have  cut  a  pattern  for  my  own  life, 
and  I  must  try  to  follow  it.  I  think  you  understand 
about  that  —  I  told  you  that  night  when  we  talked 
of  our  aims  and  hopes  on  the  campus  at  Montgomery 
that  I  wanted  to  do  something  for  the  world.  And  I 
must  still  go  on  trying  to  do  that.  It's  a  poor,  tiny 
little  gleam;  but  I  must  follow  the  gleam." 

"But  there's  nothing  in  that  that  we  can't  do 
together.  We  can  go  on  seeking  it  together,"  he 
pleaded. 

11 1  hope  it  may  be  so.  We  must  go  on  being  the 
good  friends  we  are  now.  You  and  Aunt  Sally 
are  all  I  have  —  the  best  I  have.  I  can't  let  you 
spoil  that,"  she  ended  firmly,  as  though,  after  all, 
this  were  the  one  important  thing. 

There  was  nothing  here,  he  reasoned,  that  might 
not  be  overcome.  The  work  that  she  had  planned 
to  do  imposed  no  barrier.  Men  and  women  were  find 
ing  out  the  joy  of  striving  together;  she  need  give  up 
nothing  in  joining  her  life  to  his.  He  touched  the 

(524) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

liand  that  lay  near  and  thrilled  to  the  contact  of  her 
fingers. 

"Please,  Dan!"  she  pleaded,  drawing  her  hand 
.away.  "  I  mean  to  go  on  with  my  life  as  I  have  begun 
it.  I  shall  never  marry,  Dan,  —  marriage  is  n't  in 
my  plan  at  all.  But  for  you  the  right  woman  will 
come  some  day  —  I  hope  so  with  all  my  heart.  We 
must  understand  all  this  now.  And  I  must  be  sure, 
oh,  very  sure,  that  you  know  how  dear  it  is  to  have 
liad  you  say  these  things  to  me/' 

"But  I  shall  say  them  again  and  always,  Sylvia! 
This  was  only  the  beginning;  I  had  to  speak  to-night; 
I  came  here  to  say  these  things  to  you.  I  am  able 
to  care  for  you  now  —  not  as  I  should  like  to,  but 
I'm  going  to  succeed.  I  want  to  ease  the  way  for 
you;  I  mean  that  you  must  n't  go  back  to  teaching 
this  fall!" 

"There,  you  see"  —  and  he  knew  she  smiled  in 
her  patient,  sweet  way  that  was  dear  to  him  —  "you 
want  to  stop  my  work  before  it's  begun!  You  see 
how  impossible  it  would  be,  Dan!" 

"But  you  can  do  other  things;  there  are  in 
finite  ways  in  which  you  can  be  of  use,  doing  the 
things  you  want  to  do.  The  school  work  is  only  a 
handicap,  —  drudgery  that  leads  to  nothing." 

He  knew  instantly  that  he  had  erred ;  and  that  he 
must  give  her  no  opportunity  to  defend  her  attitude 
toward  her  work.  He  returned  quickly  to  his  great 
longing  and  need. 

"Without  you  I  'm  a  failure,  Sylvia.  If  it  had  nrt 
been  for  you  I  should  never  have  freed  myself  of 
that  man  over  there! "  And  he  lifted  his  arm  toward 

(525) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  lights  of  the  Bassett  landing  on  the  nearer 
shore. 

11  No;  you  would  have  saved  yourself  in  any  case; 
there 's  no  questioning  that.  You  were  bound  to  do 
it.  And  it  was  n't  the  man;  it  was  the  base  servitude 
that  you  came  to  despise.'* 

"Not  without  you!  It  was  your  attitude  toward 
me,  after  that  cheap  piece  of  melodrama  I  figured 
in  in  that  convention,  that  brought  me  up  with  a 
short  turn.  It  all  came  through  you  —  my  wish  to 
measure  up  to  your  ideal." 

"That's  absurd,  Dan.  If  I  believed  that  I  should 
think  much  less  of  you;  I  really  should!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "It  was  something  finer  and  higher  than 
that;  it  was  your  own  manhood  asserting  itself.  That 
man  over  there,"  she  went  on  more  quietly,  "is  an 
object  of  pity.  He's  beset  on  many  sides.  It  hurt 
him  to  lose  you.  He's  far  from  happy." 

"He  has  no  claim  upon  happiness;  he  doesn't 
deserve  happiness,"  replied  Dan  doggedly. 

"But  the  break  must  have  cost  you  something; 
have  n't  you  missed  him  just  a  little  bit?" 

It  was  clear  from  her  tone  that  she  wished  affirma 
tion  of  this.  The  reference  to  his  former  employer 
angered  him.  He  had  been  rejoicing  in  his  escape 
from  Morton  Bassett,  and  yet  Sylvia  spoke  of  him 
with  tolerance  and  sympathy.  The  Bassetts  were 
coolly  using  her  to  extricate  themselves  from  the 
embarrassments  resulting  from  their  own  folly;  it 
was  preposterous  that  they  should  have  sent  Sylvia 
to  bring  Marian  home.  And  his  rage  was  intensified 
by  the  recollection  of  the  pathos  he  had  himself  felt 

(526) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

in  Bassett  that  very  evening,  as  he  had  watched  him 
mount  the  steps  of  his  home.  Sylvia  was  causing  the 
old  chords  to  vibrate  with  full  knowledge  that,  in 
spite  of  his  avowed  contempt  for  the  man,  Morton 
Bassett  still  roused  his  curiosity  and  interest.  It  was 
unfair  for  Sylvia  to  take  advantage  of  this. 

"  Bassett 's  nothing  to  me,"  he  said  roughly. 

"He  seems  to  me  the  loneliest  soul  I  ever  knew," 
replied  Sylvia  quietly. 

"He  deserves  it;  he's  brought  himself  to  that." 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  altogether  evil.  There  must 
be  good  in  him." 

"It's  because  he's  so  evil  that  you  pity  him;  it's 
because  of  that  that  I  'm  sorry  for  him.  It's  because 
we  know  that  he  must  be  broken  upon  the  wheel 
before  he  realizes  the  vile  use  he  has  made  of  his 
power  that  we  are  sorry  for  him.  Why,  Sylvia,  he's 
the  worst  foe  we  have  —  all  of  us  who  want  to  do 
what  we  call  the  great  things  —  ease  the  burdens  of 
the  poor,  make  government  honest,  catch  the  gleam 
we  seek!  Even  poor  Allen,  when  he  stands  on  the 
Monument  steps  at  midnight  and  spouts  to  me  about 
the  Great  Experiment,  feels  what  Morton  Bassett 
can't  be  made  to  feel." 

"  But  he  may  yet  see  it;  even  he  may  come  to  see 
it,"  murmured  Sylvia. 

"He's  a  hard,  stubborn  brute;  it's  in  the  lines  of 
his  back  —  I  was  studying  him  on  the  boat  this 
evening,  and  my  eyes  followed  him  up  the  steps  after 
they  dropped  him  at  his  dock.  It's  in  those  strong, 
iron  hands  of  his.  I  tell  you,  what  we  feel  for  him  is 
only  the  kind  of  pity  we  have  for  those  we  know  to 

(527) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

be  doomed  by  the  gods  to  an  ignominious  end.  He's 
not  worth  our  pity.  He  asks  no  mercy  and  he  won't 
get  any." 

He  was  at  once  ashamed  of  the  temper  to  which 
he  had  yielded,  and  angry  at  himself  for  having 
broken  the  calm  of  the  night  with  these  discordant 
notes.  Sylvia's  hand  touched  the  water  caressingly, 
waking  tiny  ripples. 

" Sylvia,"  he  said  when  he  was  calm  again,  "I 
want  you  to  marry  me." 

"I  have  told  you,  Dan,  that  I  can  never  marry 
any  one;  and  that  must  be  the  end  of  it." 

"But  your  work  can  go  on  — "  he  began,  ready 
for  another  assault  upon  that  barrier. 

A  sailboat  loitering  in  the  light  wind  had  stolen 
close  upon  them,  and  passed  hardly  a  paddle's  length 
away.  Dan,  without  changing  his  position,  drove 
the  canoe  toward  the  shore  with  a  few  strokes  of 
the  paddle,  then  steadied  himself  to  speak  again. 
Sylvia's  eyes  watched  the  sails  vanishing  like  ghosts 
into  the  dark. 

"That  won't  do,  Sylvia:  that  is  n't  enough.  You 
haven't  said  that  you  don't  care  for  me;  you 
haven't  said  that  you  don't  love  me!  And  I  can't 
believe  that  your  ambitions  alone  are  in  the  way. 
Believe  me,  that  I  respect  them;  I  should  never 
interfere  with  them.  There  must  be  some  other 
reason.  I  can't  take  no  for  an  answer;  this  night  was 
made  for  us;  no  other  night  will  ever  be  just  like 
this.  Please,  dear,  if  there  are  other  reasons  than  my 
own  poor  spirit  and  the  little  I  can  offer,  let  me  know 
it.  If  you  don't  care,  it  will  be  kinder  to  say  it  now! 

(528) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

If  that  is  the  reason  —  even  if  there's  some  other 
man  —  let  me  know  it  now.  Tell  me  what  it  is, 
Sylvia!" 

It  was  true  that  she  had  not  said  she  did  not  care. 
Her  silence  now  at  the  direct  question  stirred  new 
fears  to  life  in  his  breast,  like  the  beat  of  startled 
wings  from  a  thicket  in  November. 

Only  the  lights  of  the  sailboat  were  visible  now, 
but  suddenly  a  girl's  voice  rose  clear  and  sweet, 
singing  to  the  accompaniment  of  guitar  and  mando 
lin.  The  guitar  throbbed ;  and  on  its  deep  chords  the 
mandolin  wove  its  melody.  The  voice  seemed  to 
steal  out  of  the  heart  of  the  night  and  float  over 
the  still  waters.  The  unseen  singer  never  knew  the 
mockery  of  the  song  she  sang.  It  was  an  old  song 
and  the  air  was  one  familiar  the  world  round.  And 
it  bore  the  answer  to  Dan's  question  which  Sylvia 
had  carried  long  in  her  heart,  but  could  not  speak. 
She  did  not  speak  it  then ;  it  was  ordained  that  she 
should  never  speak  it.  And  Dan  knew  and  under 
stood. 

"  Who  is  Sylvia,  what  is  she, 
That  all  the  swains  adore  her?  " 

"Who  is  Sylvia?"  Dan  knew  in  that  hour  the 
answer  of  tears ! 

The  song  ceased.  When  Dan  saw  Sylvia's  head 
lift,  he  silently  took  the  paddle  and  impelled  the 
canoe  toward  the  red,  white,  and  blue  lanterns  that 
defined  Mrs.  Owen's  landing.  They  were  within  a 
hundred  yards  of  the  intervening  green  light  of  the 
Bassett  dock  when  a  brilliant  meteor  darted  across 

(529) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

the  zenith,  and  Dan's  exclamation  broke  the  tension. 
Their  eyes  turned  toward  the  heavens  —  Sylvia's 
still  bright  with  tears,  Dan  knew,  though  he  could 
not  see  her  face. 

"Poor  lost  star!"  she  murmured  softly. 

Dan  was  turning  the  canoe  slightly  to  avoid  the 
jutting  shore  that  made  a  miniature  harbor  at  the 
Bassett's  when  Sylvia  uttered  a  low  warning.  Dan, 
instantly  alert,  gripped  his  paddle  and  waited.  Some 
one  had  launched  a  canoe  at  the  Bassett  boathouse. 
There  was  a  stealthiness  in  the  performance  that 
roused  him  to  vigilance.  He  cautiously  backed 
water  and  waited.  A  word  or  two  spoken  in  a  low 
tone  reached  Dan  and  Sylvia:  two  persons  seemed 
to  be  embarking. 

A  canoe  shot  out  suddenly  from  the  dock,  driven 
by  a  confident  hand. 

"It  must  be  Marian;  but  there's  some  one  with 
her,"  said  Sylvia. 

Dan  had  already  settled  himself  in  the  stern 
ready  for  a  race. 

"It's  probably  that  idiot  Allen, "he  growled.  "We 
must  follow  them." 

Away  from  the  shore  shadows  the  starlight  was 
sufficient  to  confirm  Dan's  surmise  as  to  the  nature 
of  this  canoe  flight.  It  was  quite  ten  o'clock,  and  the 
lights  in  the  Bassett  house  on  the  bluff  above  had 
been  extinguished.  It  was  at  once  clear  to  Dan  that 
he  must  act  promptly.  Allen,  dismayed  by  the  com 
plications  that  beset  his  love-affair,  had  proposd  an 
elopement,  and  Marian  had  lent  a  willing  ear. 

"  They  're  running  away,  Sylvia ;  we  've  got  to  head 

(530) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

them  off."  He  bent  to  his  paddle  vigorously.  "They 
can't  possibly  get  away." 

But  it  was  not  in  Marian's  blood  to  be  thwarted  in 
her  pursuit  of  adventure.  She  was  past-mistress  of 
the  canoeist's  difficult  art,  and  her  canoe  flew  on 
as  though  drawn  away  into  the  dark  on  unseen 
cords. 

11  You'd  better  lend  a  hand,"  said  Dan,  and  Sylvia 
turned  round  and  knelt,  paddling  Indian  fashion. 
The  canoe  skimmed  the  water  swiftly.  It  was  in 
their  thoughts  that  Marian  and  Allen  must  not  land 
at  Waupegan,  where  their  intentions  would  be  ad 
vertised  to  the  world.  The  race  must  end  before  the 
dock  was  reached.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  Dan  called  to  Sylvia  to  cease  paddling. 

" We've  passed  them;  there's  no  doubt  of  that," 
he  said,  peering  into  the  dark. 

" Maybe  they're  just  out  for  fun  and  have  turned 
back,"  suggested  Sylvia. 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  so.  More  likely  they're  try 
ing  to  throw  us  off.  Let's  check  up  for  a  moment 
and  see  if  we  hear  them  again." 

He  kept  the  canoe  moving  slowly  while  they 
listened  for  some  sign  of  the  lost  quarry.  Then 
suddenly  they  heard  a  paddle  stroke  behind  them, 
and  an  instant  later  a  canoe's  bow  brushed  their 
craft  as  lightly  as  a  hand  passing  across  paper.  Dan 
threw  himself  forward  and  grasped  the  sides  firmly; 
there  was  a  splashing  and  wobbling  as  he  arrested 
the  flight.  A  canoe  is  at  once  the  most  docile  and 
the  most  intractable  of  argosies.  Sylvia  churned  the 
water  with  her  paddle,  seeking  to  crowd  the  rocking 

(531) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

canoes  closer  together,  while  Marian  endeavored  to 
drive  them  apart. 

"Allen!"  panted  Dan,  prone  on  the  bottom  of 
his  canoe  and  gripping  the  thwarts  of  the  rebellious 
craft  beside  him,  "  this  must  end  here/' 

"Let  us  go!"  cried  Allen  stridently.  "This  is- 
none  of  your  business.  Let  us  go,  I  say." 

Finding  it  impossible  to  free  her  canoe,  Marian 
threw  down  her  paddle  angrily.  They  were  all  breath 
less;  Dan  waited  till  the  canoes  rode  together 
quietly.  Sylvia  had  brought  an  electric  lamp 
which  Dan  now  flashed  the  length  of  the  captive 
canoe.  It  searched  the  anxious,  angry  faces  of  the 
runaways,  and  disclosed  two  suit  cases  that  told 
their  own  story. 

"I  told  you  to  keep  away  from  here,  Allen.  You 
can't  do  this.  It  won't  do,"  said  Dan,  snapping  off 
the  light;  "you're  going  home  with  us,  Marian." 

"  I  won't  go  back;  you  have  n't  any  right  to  stop 
me!" 

"You  haven't  any  right  to  run  away  in  this 
fashion,"  said  Sylvia,  speaking  for  the  first  time. 
"  You  would  cause  endless  trouble.  It 's  not  the  way 
to  do  it." 

"But  it's  the  only  way  out,"  stormed  Allen. 
"There's  no  other  way.  Dan  told  me  himself  I 
could  n't  speak  to  Mr.  Bassett,  and  this  is  the  only 
thing  we  could  do." 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me  just  what  you  intended 
doing?"  asked  Dan,  still  gripping  the  canoe. 

"I'd  spoken  to  the  minister  here  in  the  village. 
Marian  was  going  to  spend  the  night  at  his  house 

(532) 


A  SONG  AND  A  FALLING  STAR 

and  we  were  to  be  married  in  the  morning  as  soon  as 
I  could  get  a  license." 

"You  can't  get  a  marriage  license  in  Waupegan; 
your  minister  ought  to  know  that/' 

"No;  but  we  could  have  driven  over  early  to  the 
county  seat  and  got  it;  I  tell  you  I  had  it  all  fixed. 
You  let  go  of  that  canoe!" 

"Stand  by,  Sylvia,"  said  Dan  with  determination. 

He  steadied  himself  a  moment,  stepped  into 
Marian's  canoe,  and  caught  up  her  paddle. 

"Wait  here,  Sylvia.  I  'm  going  to  land  Allen  over 
there  at  that  dock  with  the  two  white  lights,  and  I  '11 
come  back  with  Marian  and  we'll  take  her  home. 
Flash  the  light  occasionally  so  I  shan't  lose  you." 

A  few  minutes  later  when  Allen,  sulky  and 
breathing  dire  threats,  had  been  dropped  ashore, 
Harwood  paddled  Marian  home,  Sylvia  trailing 
behind. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  Sylvia,  having  hidden 
Marian's  suit  case  in  Mrs.  Owen's  boathouse, 
watched  the  tearful  and  wrathful  Juliet  steal  back 
into  her  father's  house. 

Allen  lodged  at  the  inn  with  Dan  that  night  and, 
duly  urged  not  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  again,  went 
home  by  the  morning  train. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   KING   HATH   SUMMONED  HIS   PARLIAMENT 

THE  Great  Seal  of  the  Hoosier  Common 
wealth,  depicting  a  sturdy  pioneer  felling  a 
tree  while  behind  him  a  frightened  buffalo 
gallops  madly  into  oblivion,  was  affixed  to  a  procla 
mation  of  the  governor  convening  the  legislature  in 
special  session  on  the  2Oth  of  November.  It  was  Mor 
ton  Bassett's  legislature,  declared  the  Republican 
press,  brought  back  to  the  capital  to  do  those  things 
which  it  had  left  undone  at  the  regular  session.  The 
Democratic  newspapers  proved  conclusively  that 
the  demands  of  the  state  institutions  said  to  be 
in  dire  need  were  the  fruit  of  a  long  period  of  Repub 
lican  extravagance,  for  which  the  Democratic  Party, 
always  prone  to  err  on  the  side  of  frugality,  was  in 
no  wise  responsible.  The  Republican  governor  had 
caused  the  legislative  halls  to  be  reopened  merely  to 
give  a  false  impression  of  Democratic  incompetence, 
but  in  due  season  the  people  would  express  their 
opinion  of  that  governor.  So  reasoned  loyal  Demo 
crats.  Legislatures  are  not  cheap,  taken  at  their 
lowest  valuation,  and  a  special  session,  costing 
something  like  one  hundred  thousand  of  the  people's 
dollars,  is  an  extravagance  before  which  a  governor 
may  well  hesitate.  This  particular  convocation  of 
the  Hoosier  lawmakers,  summoned  easily  enough  by 

(534) 


THE  KING  AND  HIS  PARLIAMENT 

a  stroke  of  the  pen,  proved  to  be  expensive  in  more 
ways  than  one. 

On  the  third  day  of  the  special  session,  when  the 
tardiest  member,  hailing  from  the  remote  fastnesses 
of  Switzerland  County,  was  just  finding  his  seat,  and 
before  all  the  others  had  drawn  their  stationery  and 
registered  a  generous  computation  of  their  mileage, 
something  happened.  The  bill  for  an  act  entitled  an 
act  to  lift  the  lid  of  the  treasure  chests  was  about  to 
be  read  for  the  first  time  when  a  page  carried  a 
telegram  to  Morton  Bassett  in  the  senate  chamber. 

Senator  Bassett  read  his  message  once  and  again. 
His  neighbors  on  the  floor  looked  enviously  upon 
the  great  man  who  thus  received  telegrams  without 
emotion.  It  seemed,  however,  to  those  nearest  him, 
that  the  bit  of  yellow  paper  shook  slightly  in 
Bassett's  hand.  The  clerk  droned  on  to  an  inatten 
tive  audience.  Bassett  put  down  the  telegram, 
looked  about,  and  then  got  upon  his  feet.  The 
lieutenant-governor,  yawning  and  idly  playing  with 
his  gavel,  saw  with  relief  that  the  senator  from 
Fraser  wished  to  interrupt  the  proceedings. 

"Mr.  President." 

"The  senator  from  Fraser." 

"Mr.  President,  I  ask  leave  to  interrupt  the  read 
ing  of  the  bill  to  make  an  announcement." 

"There  being  no  objection,  the  senator  will  make 
his  announcement." 

Senators  who  had  been  smoking  in  the  cloakroom, 
or  talking  to  friends  outside  the  railing,  became  at 
tentive.  The  senator  from  Fraser  was  little  given  to 
speech,  and  it  might  be  that  he  meant  at  this  time 

(535) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

to  indicate  the  attitude  of  the  majority  toward  the 
appropriations  asked  by  the  governor.  In  any  event, 
it  was  always  wise  to  listen  to  anything  Morton 
Bassett  had  to  say. 

The  senator  was  unusually  deliberate.  Even  when 
he  had  secured  the  undivided  attention  of  the  cham 
ber  he  picked  up  the  telegram  and  read  it  through 
again,  as  though  to  familiarize  himself  with  its 
contents. 

"  Mr.  President,  I  have  just  received  the  following 
message  from  a  personal  friend  in  Washington: 
'The  Honorable  Roger  B.  Ridgefield,  United  States 
Senator  from  Indiana,  while  on  a  hunting  trip  in 
Chesapeake  Bay  with  a  party  of  Baltimore  friends, 
died  suddenly  this  morning.  The  death  occurred  at 
a  point  remote  from  the  telegraph.  No  particulars 
have  yet  been  received  at  Washington/  It  is  with 
profound  sorrow,  Mr.  President,  that  I  make  this 
announcement.  Though  Senator  Ridgefield  had  long 
been  my  political  antagonist,  he  had  also  been,  for 
many  years,  a  valued  personal  friend.  The  Repub 
lican  Party  has  lost  one  of  its  great  leaders,  and  the 
State  of  Indiana  a  son  to  whom  men  of  all  parties 
have  given  their  ungrudging  admiration.  Mr.  Pres 
ident,  I  move  that  the  senate  do  now  adjourn  to 
meet  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

Even  before  the  motion  could  be  put,  Bassett  was 
passing  about  among  the  desks.  The  men  he  spoke 
to  nodded  understandingly.  A  mild,  subdued  excite 
ment  reigned  in  the  chamber.  It  flashed  through  the 
mind  of  every  Democratic  member  that  that  death 
in  the  Chesapeake  had  brought  a  crisis  in  the  war 

(536) 


THE  KING  AND  HIS  PARLIAMENT 

between  Bassett  and  Thatcher.  In  due  course  the 
assembly,  convened  in  joint  session,  would  mourn 
decorously  the  death  of  a  statesman  who  had  long 
and  honorably  represented  the  old  Hoosier  State 
in  the  august  Senate  of  the  United  States  ;  and  his 
passing  would  be  feelingly  referred  to  in  sonorous 
phrases  as  an  untoward  event,  a  deplorable  and  irre 
parable  loss  to  the  commonwealth.  To  Republicans, 
however,  it  was  a  piece  of  stupendous  ill-luck  that  the 
Senator  should  have  indulged  in  the  childish  pastime 
of  duck  shooting  at  an  inconvenient  season  when  the 
Democratic  majority  in  the  general  assembly  would 
be  able  to  elect  a  successor  to  complete  his  term  of 
office. 

When  the  gavel  fell,  adjourning  the  senate,  gentle 
men  were  already  seeking  in  the  Federal  Constitu 
tion  for  the  exact  language  of  the  section  bearing 
upon  this  emergency.  If  the  Republican  governor 
had  not  so  gayly  summoned  the  legislature  he  might 
have  appointed  a  Senator  of  his  own  political  faith 
to  serve  until  the  next  regular  session,  following 
the  elections  a  year  hence.  It  was  ungenerous  and 
disloyal  of  Roger  B.  Ridgefield  to  have  taken  himself 
out  of  the  world  in  this  abrupt  fashion.  Before  the 
first  shock  had  passed,  there  were  those  about  the 
State  House  who,  scanning  the  newspaper  extras, 
were  saying  that  a  secret  fondness  for  poker  and 
not  an  enthusiasm  for  ducks  had  led  the  Honor 
able  Roger  B.  Ridgefield  to  the  remote  arm  of  the 
Chesapeake,  where  he  had  been  the  guest  of  a 
financier  whose  influence  in  the  upper  house  of 
Congress  was  notoriously  pernicious.  This  did  not, 

(537) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

however,  alter  the  immediate  situation.  The  lan 
guage  of  the  Federal  and  State  Constitutions  was  all 
too  explicit  for  the  Republican  minority;  it  was  only 
in  recess  that  a  governor  might  fill  a  vacancy;  and 
beyond  doubt  the  general  assembly  was  in  town, 
lawfully  brought  from  the  farm,  the  desk,  the  mine, 
and  the  factory,  as  though  expressly  to  satisfy  the 
greed  for  power  of  a  voracious  Democracy. 

Groups  of  members  were  retiring  to  quiet  corners 
to  discuss  the  crisis.  Bassett  had  already  designated 
a  committee  room  where  he  would  meet  his  followers 
and  stanch  adherents.  Thatcher  men  had  gone  forth 
to  seek  their  chief.  The  Democrats  would  gain  a 
certain  moral  strength  through  the  possession  of  a 
Senator  in  Congress.  The  man  chosen  to  fill  the 
vacancy  would  have  an  almost  irresistible  claim  upon 
the  senatorship  if  the  Democrats  should  control  the 
next  legislature.  It  was  worth  fighting  for,  that  dead 
man's  seat! 

The  full  significance  of  the  news  was  not  wasted 
upon  Representative  Harwood.  The  house  ad 
journed  promptly,  and  Dan  hastened  to  write  tele 
grams.  He  wired  Colonel  Ramsay,  of  Aurora,  to 
come  to  the  capital  on  the  first  train.  Telegrams 
went  flying  that  afternoon  to  every  part  of  Indiana. 

Thatcher  read  the  evening  papers  in  Chicago  and 
kept  the  wires  hot  while  he  waited  for  the  first  train 
for  Indianapolis. 

One  of  his  messages,  addressed  to  Harwood,  read: 

"  Breakfast  with  me  to-morrow  morning  at  my 
house.  Strictly  private.  This  is  your  big  chance." 

(538) 


THE  KING  AND  HIS  PARLIAMENT 

Harwood,  locked  in  his  office  in  the  Law  Building, 
received  this  message  by  telephone,  and  it  aroused 
his  ire.  His  relations  with  Thatcher  did  not  justify 
that  gentleman  in  tendering  him  a  strictly  private 
breakfast,  nor  did  he  relish  having  a  big  chance 
pointed  out  to  him  by  Mr.  Thatcher.  It  cannot 
be  denied  that  Dan,  too,  felt  that  Senator  Ridge- 
field  had  chosen  a  most  unfortunate  season  for  ex 
posing  himself  to  the  ravages  of  the  pneumococcus. 
He  kept  away  from  the  State  House  and  hotels  that 
evening,  having  decided  to  take  no  part  in  the  pre 
liminary  skirmishes  until  he  had  seen  Ramsay,  who 
would  bring  a  cool  head  and  a  trained  hand  to  bear 
upon  this  unforeseen  situation. 

He  studied  the  newspapers  as  he  ate  breakfast 
alone  at  the  University  Club  early  the  next  morning. 
The  " Advertiser"  had  neatly  divided  its  first  page 
between  the  Honorable  Roger  B.  Ridgefield,  dead  in 
a  far  country,  and  the  Honorable  Morton  Bassett, 
who,  it  seemed,  was  very  much  alive  at  the  Hoosier 
capital.  A  double  column  headline  conveyed  this 
intelligence:  — 

BASSETT   IS  HIMSELF  AGAIN 

Harwood,  nibbled  his  toast  and  winnowed  the 
chaff  of  speculation  from  the  grains  of  truth  in  this 
article.  He  had  checked  off  the  names  of  all  the 
Bassett  men  in  both  houses  of  the  assembly,  and 
listed  Thatcher's  supporters  and  the  doubtful  mem 
bers.  Bassett  would  undoubtedly  make  a  strong 
showing  in  a  caucus,  but  whether  he  would  be  able 

(539) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

to  command  a  majority  remained  to  be  seen.  There 
were  men  among  the  doubtful  who  would  be  dis 
posed  to  favor  Thatcher  because  he  had  driven  a 
wedge  into  the  old  Bassett  stone  wall.  No  one  else 
had  ever  succeeded  in  imperiling  the  security  of  that 
impregnable  stronghold.  The  thought  of  this  made 
Harwood  uncomfortable.  It  was  unfortunate  from 
every  standpoint  that  the  legislature  should  be 
called  upon  to  choose  a  Senator  without  the  usual 
time  for  preparation.  Dan  had  already  been  struck 
by  the  general  air  of  irresponsibility  that  prevailed 
among  the  legislators.  Many  of  the  members  had 
looked  upon  the  special  session  as  a  lark;  they 
seemed  to  feel  that  their  accountability  to  their 
constituents  had  ended  with  the  regular  session. 

The  "  Courier,"  Dan  observed,  printed  an  excel 
lent  biographical  sketch  of  the  dead  Senator,  and  its 
news  article  on  the  Democratic  opportunity  was 
seemly  and  colorless.  The  state  and  federal  statutes 
bearing  upon  the  emergency  were  quoted  in  full, 
but  the  names  of  Bassett  and  Thatcher  did  not  ap 
pear,  nor  were  any  possible  successors  to  Ridge- 
field  mentioned.  Dan  opened  to  the  editorial  page, 
and  was  not  surprised  to  find  the  leading  article  a 
dignified  eulogy  of  the  dead  Senator.  Then  his  eye 
fastened  upon  an  article  so  placed  that  it  dominated 
the  whole  page.  It  was  the  old  "  Stop,  Look,  Listen ! " 
editorial,  reproduced  with  minute  citation  of  the 
date  of  original  publication. 

Dan  flinched  as  though  a  cupful  of  ice  water  had 
struck  him  in  the  face.  Whatever  scandalous 
knowledge  touching  Bassett's  public  or  private  life 

(540) 


THE  KING  AND  HIS  PARLIAMENT 

Thatcher  might  possess,  it  was  plain  that  Bassett 
was  either  ignorant  of  it  or  knew  and  did  not  fear 
exposure.  In  either  event,  the  republication  of  the 
"Stop,  Look,  Listen!"  article  was  an  invitation  to 
battle. 

It  was  in  no  happy  frame  of  mind  that  Harwood 
awaited  the  coming  of  Ramsay. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

SYLVIA  ASKS   QUESTIONS 

THE  Wares  had  asked  Sylvia  to  dine  with 
them  on  Friday  evening  a  fortnight  later, 
and  Harwood  was  to  call  for  her  at  the 
minister's  at  nine  o'clock.  Sylvia  went  directly  to 
the  Wares'  from  school,  and  on  reaching  the  house 
learned  that  Mrs.  Ware  had  not  come  home  and  that 
the  minister  was  engaged  with  a  caller  in  the  parlor. 
Sylvia,  who  knew  the  ways  of  the  house  well,  left  her 
wraps  in  the  hall  and  made  herself  comfortable  in 
the  study,  that  curious  little  room  that  was  never 
free  from  the  odor  of  pipe  smoke,  and  where  an  old 
cavalry  sabre  hung  above  the  desk  upon  which  in  old 
times  many  sermons  had  been  written.  A  saddle, 
a  fishing-rod,  and  a  fowling-piece  dwelt  together 
harmoniously  in  one  corner,  and  over  the  back  of  a 
chair  hung  a  dilapidated  corduroy  coat. 

It  had  been  whispered  in  orthodox  circles  that 
Ware  had  amused  himself  one  winter  after  his  re 
tirement  by  profanely  feeding  his  theological  library 
into  the  furnace.  However  true  this  may  be,  few 
authors  were  represented  in  his  library,  and  these 
were  as  far  as  possible  compressed  in  one  volume. 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  Emerson,  Arnold,  and  Whit- 
tier  were  always  ready  to  his  hand;  and  he  kept  a 
supply  of  slender  volumes  of  Sill's  "Poems"  in  a 

(542) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

cupboard  in  the  hall  and  handed  them  out  dis 
criminatingly  to  his  callers.  The  house  was  the  resort 
of  many  young  people,  some  of  them  children  of 
Ware 's  former  parishioners,  and  he  was  much  given 
to  discussing  books  with  them;  or  he  would  read 
aloud  —  "Sohrab  and  Rustum,"  Lowell's  essay  on 
Lincoln,  or  favorite  chapters  from  "Old  Curios 
ity  Shop";  or  again,  it  might  be  a  review  article  on 
the  social  trend  or  a  fresh  view  of  an  old  economic 
topic.  The  Wares'  was  the  pleasantest  of  small 
houses  and  after  Mrs.  Owen's  the  place  sought 
oftenest  by  Sylvia. 

11  There's  a  gentleman  with  Mr.  Ware:  he's  been 
here  a  long  time,"  said  the  maid,  lingering  to  lay  a 
fresh  stick  of  wood  on  the  grate  fire. 

Sylvia,  warming  her  hands  at  the  blaze,  heard  the 
faint  blur  of  voices  from  the  parlor.  She  surveyed 
the  room  with  the  indifference  of  familiarity,  glanced 
at  a  new  magazine,  and  then  sat  down  at  the  desk 
and  picked  up  a  book  she  had  never  noticed  before. 
She  was  surprised  to  find  it  a  copy  of  "  Society  and 
Solitude"  that  did  not  match  the  well-thumbed  set 
of  Emerson  —  one  of  the  few  "sets"  Ware  owned. 
She  passed  her  hand  over  the  green  covers,  that 
were  well  worn  and  scratched  in  places.  The  fact 
that  the  minister  boasted  in  his  humorous  way  of 
never  wasting  money  on  bindings  caused  Sylvia  to 
examine  this  volume  with  an  attention  she  would  not 
have  given  it  in  any  other  house.  On  the  fly  leaf 
was  written  in  pencil,  in  Ware's  rough,  uneven  hand, 
an  inscription  which  covered  the  page,  with  the  last 
words  cramped  in  the  lower  corner.  These  were  al- 

(543) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

most  illegible,  but  Sylvia  felt  her  way  through  them 
slowly,  and  then  turned  to  the  middle  of  the  book 
quickly  with  an  uncomfortable  sense  of  having  read 
a  private  memorandum  of  the  minister's.  The  mar 
gins  of  his  books  she  knew  were  frequently  scribbled 
over  with  notes  that  meant  nothing  whatever  to 
any  one  but  Ware  himself.  After  a  moment  her  eyes 
sought  again  irresistibly  the  inscription.  She  re 
read  it  slowly :  - 

"The  way  of  peace  they  know  not;  and  there  is 
no  judgment  in  their  goings;  they  have  made  them 
crooked  paths;  whosoever  goeth  therein  shall  not 
know  peace.  Tramping  in  Adirondacks.  Baptized 
Elizabeth  at  Harris's." 

It  was  almost  like  eavesdropping  to  come  in  this 
way  upon  that  curiously  abrupt  Ware-like  state 
ment  of  the  minister's:  "Tramping  in  Adirondacks. 
Baptized  Elizabeth  at  Harris's." 

The  discussion  in  the  parlor  had  become  heated, 
and  occasionally  words  in  a  voice  not  Ware's  reached 
Sylvia  distinctly.  Some  one  was  alternately  beseech 
ing  and  threatening  the  minister.  It  was  clear  from 
the  pauses  in  which  she  recognized  Ware's  deep 
tones  that  he  was  yielding  neither  to  the  importuni 
ties  nor  the  threats  of  his  blustering  caller.  Sylvia 
had  imagined  that  the  storms  of  life  had  passed  over 
the  retired  clergyman,  and  she  was  surprised  that 
such  an  interview  should  be  taking  place  in  his 
house.  She  was  about  to  retreat  to  the  dining-room 
to  be  out  of  reach  of  the  voices  when  the  parlor  door 
opened  abruptly  and  Thatcher  appeared,  with  anger 

(544) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

unmistakably  showing  in  his  face,  and  apparently 
disposed  to  resume  in  the  hall  the  discussion  which 
the  minister  had  terminated  in  the  library.  Thatcher 
seemed  balder  and  more  repellent  than  when  she  had 
first  seen  him  on  the  floor  of  the  convention  hall  on 
the  day  Harwood  uttered  Bassett's  defiance.  Sylvia 
rose  with  the  book  still  in  her  hand  and  walked  to 
the  end  of  the  room ;  but  any  one  in  the  house  might 
have  heard  what  Thatcher  was  saying. 

"That's  the  way  with  you  preachers;  you  talk 
about  clean  politics,  and  when  we  get  all  ready  to 
clean  out  a  bad  man,  you  duck;  you're  a  lot  of 
cowardly  dodgers.  I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  you  to 
say  a  word  or  figure  in  this  thing  at  all ;  but  you  give 
me  that  book  and  I  '11  scare  Mort  Bassett  out  of 
town.  I'll  scare  him  clean  out  of  Indiana,  and  he'll 
never  show  his  head  again.  Why,  Ware,  I  've  been 
counting  on  it,  that  when  you  saw  we  were  in  a  hole 
and  going  to  lose,  you  'd  come  down  from  your  high 
horse  and  help  me  out.  I  tell  you,  there's  no  doubt 
about  it;  that  woman's  the  woman  I  'm  looking  for! 
I  guessed  it  the  night  you  told  that  story  up  there  in 
the  house-boat." 

"Quit  this  business,  Ed,"  the  minister  was  saying; 
"  I  'm  an  old  friend  of  yours.  But  I  won't  budge  an 
inch.  I  'd  never  breathed  a  word  of  that  story  before 
and  I  should  n't  have  told  it  that  night.  It  was  so 
far  back  that  I  thought  it  A^as  safe.  But  your  idea 
that  Bassett  had  anything  to  do  with  that  is  pre 
posterous.  Your  hatred  of  him  has  got  the  better  of 
you,  my  friend.  Drop  it:  forget  it.  If  you  can't  whip 
him  fair,  let  him  win." 

(545) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Not  much  I  won't;  but  I  did  n't  think  you'd  go 
back  on  me;  I  thought  better  of  you  than  that!" 

Thatcher  strode  to  the  door  and  went  out,  slam 
ming  it  after  him. 

The  minister  peered  into  the  library  absently,  and 
then,  surprised  to  find  Sylvia,  advanced  to  meet  her, 
smiling  gravely.  He  took  both  her  hands,  and  held 
them,  looking  into  her  face. 

"What's  this  you've  been  reading?  Ah,  that 
book!"  The  volume  slipped  into  his  hands  and  he 
glanced  at  it,  frowning  impatiently.  "  Poor  little  book. 
I  ought  to  have  burned  it  years  ago;  and  I  ought  to 
have  learned  by  this  time  to  keep  my  mouth  shut. 
They've  always  said  I  look  like  an  Indian,  but 
an  Indian  never  tells  anything.  I  Ve  told  just  one 
story  too  many.  Mea  maxima  culpa!" 

He  sat  down  in  the  big  chair  beside  his  desk,  placed 
the  book  within  reach,  and  kept  touching  it  as  he 
talked. 

"I  saw  Mr.  Thatcher,"  said  Sylvia.  "He  seemed 
very  much  aroused.  I  could  n't  help  hearing  a  word 
now  and  then." 

"That's  all  right,  Sylvia.  I've  known  Thatcher 
for  years,  and  last  fall  I  went  up  to  his  house-boat  on 
the  Kankakee  for  a  week's  shooting.  Allen  and  Dan 
Harwood  were  the  rest  of  the  party  —  and  I  hap 
pened  to  tell  the  story  of  this  little  book  —  an  un 
finished  story.  We  ought  never  to  tell  stories  until 
they  are  finished.  And  re  seems  that  Thatcher,  with 
a  zeal  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  has  been  raking  up 
the  ashes  of  an  old  affair  of  Bassett's  with  a  woman, 
and  he's  trying  to  hitch  it  on  to  the  story  I  told  him 

(546) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

about  this  book.  He  says  by  shaking  this  at  Bassett 
he  can  persuade  him  that  he 's  got  enough  ammuni 
tion  to  blow  him  out  of  the  water.  But  I  don't  be 
lieve  a  word  of  it;  I  won't  believe  such  a  thing  of 
Morton  Bassett.  And  even  if  I  did,  Thatcher  can't 
have  that  book.  I  owe  it  to  the  woman  whose  baby 
I  baptized  up  there  in  the  hills  to  keep  it.  And  the 
woman  may  be  living,  too,  for  all  I  know.  I  think 
of  her  pretty  often.  She  was  game;  would  n't  tell 
anything.  If  a  man  had  deceived  her  she  stood  by 
him.  Whatever  she  was  —  I  know  she  was  not  bad, 
not  a  bit  of  it  —  the  spirit  of  the  hills  had  entered 
into  her  —  and  those  are  cleansing  airs  up  there.  I 
suppose  it  all  made  the  deeper  impression  on  me 
because  I  was  born  up  there  myself.  When  I  strike 
Adirondacks  in  print  I  put  down  my  book  and  think 
a  while.  It 's  a  picture  word.  It  brings  back  my  ear 
liest  childhood  as  far  as  I  can  remember.  I  call 
words  that  make  pictures  that  way  moose  words; 
they  jump  up  in  your  memory  like  a  scared  moose  in 
a  thicket  and  crash  into  the  woods  like  a  cavalry 
charge.  I  can  remember  things  that  happened  when 
I  was  three  years  old :  one  day  father  shot  a  deer  in 
our  cornfield  and  I  recall  it  perfectly.  The  general 
atmosphere  of  the  old  place  steals  over  me  yet.  The 
very  thought  of  the  pointed  spruces,  the  feathery 
tamaracks,  all  the  scents  and  sounds  of  summer, 
and  the  long,  white  winters,  does  my  soul  good 
now.  The  old  Hebrews  understood  the  effect  of  land 
scape  on  character.  They  knew  most  everything, 
those  old  chaps.  *  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the 
hills  from  whence  cometh  my  help.'  Any  strength 

(547) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

there  is  in  me  dates  back  to  the  hills  of  my  youth. 
I  'd  like  to  go  back  there  to  die  when  the  bugle 
calls." 

Mrs.  Ware  had  not  yet  come  in.  Ware  lighted  the 
lamp  and  freshened  the  fire.  While  he  was  doing  this, 
Sylvia  moved  to  a  chair  by  the  table  and  picked  up 
the  book.  What  Ware  had  said  about  the  hills  of  his 
youth,  the  woods,  the  word  tamarack  that  he  had 
dropped  carelessly,  touched  chords  of  memory  as 
lightly  as  a  breeze  vibrates  a  wind  harp.  Was  this 
merely  her  imagination  that  had  been  stirred,  or  was 
it  indeed  a  recollection?  Often  before  she  had  been 
moved  by  similar  vague  memories  or  longings,  what 
ever  they  were.  They  had  come  to  trouble  her  girl 
hood  at  Montgomery,  when  the  snow  whitened  the 
campus  and  the  wind  sang  in  the  trees.  She  was 
grateful  that  the  minister  had  turned  his  back. 
Her  hands  trembled  as  she  glanced  again  at  the 
scribbled  fly  leaf;  and  more  closely  at  the  words  pen 
ciled  at  the  bottom:  "Baptized  Elizabeth  at  Har 
ris's/'  Thatcher  wanted  this  book  to  use  against 
Bassett.  Bassett  was  a  collector  of  fine  bindings; 
she  had  heard  it  spoken  of  in  the  family.  It  was 
part  of  Marian's  pride  in  her  father  that  he  was  a 
bookish  man.  When  the  minister  returned  to  his 
seat  Sylvia  asked  as  she  put  down  the  book:  — 

"Who  was  Elizabeth?" 

And  then,  little  by  little,  in  his  abrupt  way,  he 
told  the  story,  much  as  he  had  told  it  that  night  on 
the  Kankakee,  with  pauses  for  which  Sylvia  was 
grateful  —  they  gave  her  time  for  thought,  for  filling 
in  the  lapses,  for  visualizing  the  scene  he  described. 

(548) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

And  the  shadow  of  the  Morton  Bassett  she  knew 
crept  into  the  picture.  She  recalled  their  early  meet 
ings,  that  first  brief  contact  on  the  shore  of  the  lake; 
their  talk  on  the  day  following  the  convention  when 
she  had  laughed  at  him;  that  wet  evening  when 
they  met  in  the  street  and  he  had  expressed  his  in 
terest  in  Harwood  and  the  hope  that  she  might  care 
for  the  young  lawyer.  With  her  trained  habits  of 
reasoning  she  rejected  this  or  that  bit  of  testimony 
as  worthless;  but  even  then  enough  remained  to 
chill  her  heart.  Her  hands  were  cold  as  she  clasped 
them  together.  Who  was  Elizabeth?  Ah,  who  was 
Sylvia?  The  phrase  of  the  song  that  had  brought 
her  to  tears  that  starry  night  on  the  lake  when  Dan 
Harwood  had  asked  her  to  marry  him  smote  her 
again.  Her  grandfather's  evasion  of  her  questions 
about  her  father  and  mother,  and  the  twinges  of 
heartache  she  had  experienced  at  college  when  other 
girls  spoke  of  their  homes,  assumed  now  for  the  first 
time  a  sinister  meaning.  Had  she,  indeed,  come  into 
the  world  in  dishonor,  and  had  she  in  truth  known 
that  far  hill  country,  with  its  evergreens  and  glisten 
ing  snows? 

Ware  had  finished  his  story,  and  sat  staring  into 
the  crackling  fire.  At  last  he  turned  toward  Sylvia. 
In  the  glow  of  the  desk  lamp  her  face  was  white,  and 
she  gazed  with  unseeing  eyes  at  the  inscription  in 
the  book. 

The  silence  was  still  unbroken  when  a  few  min 
utes  later  Mrs.  Ware  came  in  with  Harwood,  whom 
she  had  met  in  the  street  and  brought  home  to  din 
ner. 

(549) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Dan  was  full  of  the  situation  in  the  legislature,  and 
the  table  talk  played  about  that  topic. 

"We're  sparring  for  time,  that's  all,  and  the 
people  pay  the  freight!  The  deadlock  is  clamped  on 
tight.  I  never  thought  Thatcher  would  prove  so 
strong.  I  think  we  could  shake  loose  enough  votes 
from  both  sides  to  precipitate  a  stampede  for  Ram 
say,  but  he  won't  hear  to  it.  He  says  he  wants  to 
do  the  state  one  patriotic  service  before  he  dies  by 
cleaning  out  the  bosses,  and  he  does  n't  want  to 
spoil  the  record  by  taking  the  senatorship  himself. 
Meanwhile  Bassett  stands  fast  and  there 's  no  telling 
when  he'll  break  through  Thatcher's  lines." 

'  Thatcher  was  here  to  see  me  to-day  —  the  third 
time.  He  won't  come  back.  You  know  what  he's 
after?"  said  Ware. 

"Yes;  I  understand,"  Dan  answered. 

"There  won't  be  anything  of  that  kind,  will  there, 
Dan?" 

Dan  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  glanced  at  Sylvia 
and  Mrs.  Ware. 

"Mrs.  Ware  knows  about  it;  I  had  to  tell  her," 
remarked  the  minister,  chuckling.  "When  Ed 
Thatcher  makes  two  calls  on  me  in  one  week,  and 
one  of  them  at  midnight,  there's  got  to  be  an 
explanation.  And  Sylvia  heard  him  raving  before 
I  showed  him  out  this  afternoon." 

Sylvia's  plate  was  untouched ;  her  eyes  searched 
those  of  the  man  who  loved  her  before  she  spoke. 

"That's  an  ethical  point,  Mr.  Ware.  If  it  were 
necessary  to  use  that,  —  if  every  other  resource 
failed,  --would  you  use  it?" 

(550) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

"No!  Not  if  Bassett's  success  meant  the  utter 
destruction  of  the  state.  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it. 
I  have  n't  the  slightest  confidence  in  Thatcher's 
detective  work ;  and  the  long  arm  of  coincidence  has 
to  grasp  something  firmer  than  my  pitiful  little  book 
to  convince  me." 

Dan  shook  his  head. 

"  He  does  n't  need  the  book,  Mr.  Ware.  I  've  seen 
the  documents  in  the  case.  Most  of  the  evidence  is 
circumstantial,  but  you  remember  what  your  friend 
Thoreau  said  about  circumstantial  evidence  — 
something  to  the  effect  that  it's  sometimes  pretty 
convincing,  as  when  you  find  a  trout  in  the  milk." 

"But  has  Thatcher  found  the  trout?" 

"Well,  no;  he  has  n't  exactly  found  the  trout,  but 
there's  enough,  there's  altogether  too  much!"  ended 
Dan  despairingly.  "The  caucus  does  n't  meet  again 
till  to-morrow  night,  when  Thatcher  promises  to 
show  his  hand.  I  'm  going  to  put  in  the  time  trying 
to  persuade  Ramsay  to  come  round." 

"You  might  take  it  yourself,  Dan,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Ware. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  eligible;  I'm  a  little  shy  of  being 
old  enough!  And  besides,  I  could  n't  allow  Ramsay 
to  prove  himself  a  better  patriot  than  I  am.  There 
are  plenty  of  fellows  who  have  no  such  scruples,  and 
we've  got  to  look  out  or  Bassett  will  shift  suddenly 
to  some  man  of  his  own  if  he  finds  he  can't  nominate 
himself." 

"  But  do  you  think  he  has  any  idea  what  Thatcher 
has  up  his  sleeve?"  asked  Ware. 

"It's  possible;  I  dare  say  he  knows  it.    He's  al- 

(551) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

ways  been  master  of  the  art  of  getting  information 
from  the  enemy's  camp.  But  Thatcher  has  shown 
remarkable  discretion  in  managing  this.  He  tells  me 
solemnly  that  nobody  on  earth  knows  his  intentions 
except  you,  Allen,  and  me.  He's  saving  himself  for 
a  broadside,  and  he  wants  its  full  dramatic  effect." 

Sylvia  had  hardly  spoken  during  this  discussion; 
but  the  others  looked  at  her  curiously  as  she  said :  - 

"I  don't  think  he  has  it  to  fire;  it's  incredible; 
I  don't  believe  it." 

"Neither  do  I,  Sylvia,"  said  the  minister  earn 
estly. 

The  talk  at  the  Wares'  went  badly  that  evening. 
Harwood's  mind  was  on  the  political  situation.  As 
he  sat  in  the  minister's  library  he  knew  that  in 
upper  chambers  of  the  State  House,  and  in  hotels 
and  boarding-houses,  members  of  the  majority  in 
twos  and  threes,  or  here  and  there  a  dozen,  were 
speculating  and  plotting.  The  deadlock  was  be 
coming  intolerable.  Interest  in  the  result  was  keen 
in  all  parts  of  the  country,  and  the  New  York  and 
Chicago  newspapers  had  sent  special  representatives 
to  watch  the  fight.  Dan  was  sick  of  the  sight  and 
sound  of  it.  In  the  strict  alignment  of  factions  he 
had  voted  with  Thatcher,  yet  he  told  himself  he  was 
not  a  Thatcher  man.  He  had  personally  projected 
Ramsay's  name  one  night  in  the  hope  of  breaking 
the  Bassett  phalanx,  but  the  only  result  was  to 
arouse  Thatcher's  wrath  against  him.  Bassett's  men 
believed  in  Bassett.  The  old  superstition  as  to  his 
invulnerability  had  never  more  thoroughly  pos 
sessed  the  imaginations  of  his  adherents.  Bassett 

(552) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

was  not  only  himself  again,  but  his  iron  grip  seemed 
tighter  than  ever.  He  was  making  the  fight  of  his 
life,  and  he  was  beyond  question  a  "game"  fighter; 
the  opposition  newspapers  that  most  bitterly  op 
posed  Bassett  tempered  their  denunciations  with 
this  concession.  Dan  fumed  at  this;  such  bosses 
were  always  game  fighters,  --  they  had  to  be,  —  and 
the  readiness  of  Americans  to  admire  the  gameness 
of  the  Bassetts  deepened  his  hostility.  The  very  use 
of  sporting  terminology  in  politics  angered  him.  In 
his  mind  the  case  was  docketed  not  as  Thatcher 
versus  Bassett,  but  as  Thatcher  and  Bassett  versus 
the  People.  It  all  came  to  that.  And  why  should  not 
the  People  —  the  poor,  meek,  long-suffering  People, 
the  ' '  pee-pul ' '  of  familiar  derision  —  sometimes 
win?  His  pride  in  the  state  of  his  birth  was  strong; 
his  pride  in  his  party  was  only  second  to  it.  He 
would  serve  both  if  he  could.  Not  only  must  Bassett 
be  forever  put  down,  but  Thatcher  also;  and  he 
assured  himself  that  it  was  not  the  men  he  despised, 
but  the  wretched,  brutal  mediaeval  system  that 
survived  in  them.  And  so  pondering,  it  was  no 
wonder  that  Dan  brought  no  joy  to  John  Ware's 
library  that  night.  The  minister  himself  seemed 
unwontedly  preoccupied;  Sylvia  stared  at  the  fire  as 
though  seeking  in  the  flames  answers  to  unanswer 
able  questions.  Mrs.  Ware  sought  vainly  to  bring 
cheer  to  the  company. 

Shortly  after  eight  o'clock,  Sylvia  rose  to  leave. 

"Aunt  Sally  got  home  from  Kentucky  this  after 
noon,  and  I  must  drop  in  for  a  minute,  Dan,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

(553) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Sylvia  hardly  spoke  on  the  way  to  Mrs.  Owen's. 
Since  that  night  on  the  lake  she  had  never  been  the 
same,  or  so  it  seemed  to  Dan.  She  had  gone  back  to 
her  teaching,  and  when  they  met  she  talked  of  her 
work  and  of  impersonal  things.  Once  he  had 
broached  the  subject  of  marriage,  —  soon  after  her 
return  to  town,  --  but  she  had  made  it  quite  clear 
that  this  was  a  forbidden  topic.  The  good  comrade 
ship  and  frankness  of  their  intercourse  had  passed, 
and  it  seemed  to  his  despairing  lover's  heart  that  it 
could  never  be  regained.  She  carried  her  head  a  little 
higher;  her  smile  was  not  the  smile  of  old.  He  shrank 
from  telling  her  that  nothing  mattered  if  she  cared 
for  him  as  he  believed  she  did.  She  gave  him  no 
chance,  for  one  thing,  and  he  had  never  in  his  bitter 
self-communing  found  any  words  in  which  to  tell  her 
so.  More  than  ever  he  needed  Sylvia,  but  Sylvia 
had  locked  and  barred  the  doors  against  him. 

Mrs.  Owen  received  them  in  her  office,  and  the  old 
lady's  cheeriness  was  grateful  to  both  of  them. 

"So  you've  been  having  supper  with  the  Wares, 
have  you,  while  I  ate  here  all  by  myself?  A  nice  way 
to  treat  a  lone  old  woman,  —  leaving  me  to  prop  the 
1  Indiana  Farmer'  on  the  coffee  pot  for  company!  I 
had  to  stay  at  Lexington  longer  than  I  wanted  to, 
and  some  of  my  Kentucky  cousins  held  me  up  in 
Louisville.  I  notice,  Daniel,  that  there  are  some 
doings  at  the  State  House.  I  must  say  it  was  a  down 
right  sin  for  old  Ridgefield  to  go  duck  shooting  at 
his  time  of  life  and  die  just  when  we  were  getting 
politics  calmed  down  in  this  state.  When  I  saw  that 
old  'Stop,  Look,  Listen!'  editorial  printed  like  a 

(554) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

Thanksgiving  proclamation  in  the  '  Courier,'  I  knew 
there  was  trouble.  I  must  speak  to  Atwill.  He's 
letting  the  automobile  folks  run  the  paper  again." 

She  demanded  to  know  when  Dan  would  have 
time  to  do  some  work  for  her;  she  had  disposed  of 
her  Kentucky  farm  and  was  going  ahead  with  her 
scheme  for  a  vocational  school  to  be  established  at 
Waupegan.  This  was  the  first  that  Dan  had  heard 
of  this  project,  and  its  bearing  upon  the  hopes  of  the 
Bassetts  as  the  heirs  apparent  of  Mrs.  Owen's  estate 
startled  him. 

"  I  want  you  to  draw  up  papers  covering  the  whole 
business,  Daniel,  but  you've  got  to  get  rid  of  your 
legislature  first.  I  thought  of  a  good  name  for  the 
school,  Sylvia.  We'll  call  it  Elizabeth  House  School, 
to  hitch  it  on  to  the  boarding-house.  I  want  you  and 
Daniel  to  go  down  East  with  me  right  after  Christ 
mas  to  look  at  some  more  schools  where  they  do 
that  kind  of  work.  We'll  have  some  fun  next  spring 
tearing  up  the  farm  and  putting  up  the  new  build 
ings.  Are  Hallie  and  Marian  in  town,  Sylvia?" 

"No,  they're  at  Fraserville,"  Sylvia  replied. 
"And  I  had  a  note  from  Blackford  yesterday. 
He's  doing  well  at  school  now." 

"Well,  I  guess  you  did  that  for  him,  Sylvia.  I 
hope  they're  all  grateful  for  that." 

"Oh,  it  was  nothing;  and  they  paid  me  generously 
for  my  work." 

"Humph!"  Mrs.  Owen  sniffed.  "Children,  there 
are  things  in  this  world  that  a  check  don't  settle." 

There  were  some  matters  of  business  to  be  dis 
cussed.  Dan  had  at  last  received  an  offer  for  the 

(555) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Kelton  house  at  Montgomery,  and  Mrs.  Owen 
thought  he  ought  to  be  able  to  screw  the  price  up  a 
couple  of  hundred  dollars. 

"  I'm  all  ready  to  close  the  estate  when  the  sale  is 
completed,"  said  Dan.  "  Practically  everything  will 
be  cleaned  up  when  the  house  is  sold.  That  Canner 
ies  stock  that  we  inventoried  as  worthless  is  pretty 
sure  to  pan  out.  I  Ve  refused  to  compromise." 

"That's  right,  Daniel.  Don't  you  compromise 
that  case.  This  skyrocket  finance  is  all  right  for 
New  York,  but  we  can't  allow  it  here  in  the 
country  where  folks  are  mostly  square  or  trying 
to  be." 

"It  seems  hard  to  let  the  house  go,"  said  Sylvia. 
"It's  given  Mary  a  home  and  we'll  have  to  find  a 
place  for  her." 

"Oh,  that's  all  fixed,"  remarked  Mrs.  Owen. 
"  I  Ve  got  work  for  her  .at  Elizabeth  House.  She  can 
do  the  darning  and  mending.  Daniel,  have  you 
brought  the  papers  from  Andrew's  safety  box  over 
here?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  Sally;  I  did  that  the  last  time  I  was  in 
Montgomery.  I  wanted  to  examine  the  abstract  of 
title  and  be  ready  to  close  this  sale  if  you  and  Sylvia 
approved  of  it." 

"Well,  well,"  Mrs.  Owen  said,  in  one  of  those 
irrelevances  that  adorned  her  conversation. 

Dan  knew  what  was  in  her  mind.  Since  that  night 
on  Waupegan,  blessed  forever  by  Sylvia's  tears,  the 
letter  found  among  Professor  Kelton's  papers  had 
led  him  through  long,  intricate  mazes  of  speculation. 
It  was  the  tern  leaf  from  a  book  that  was  worthless 

(556) 


SYLVIA  MUST  KNOW  JUST  WHAT  WE  KNOW 


SYLVIA  ASKS   QUESTIONS 

without  the  context;  a  piece  of  valuable  evidence, 
but  inadmissible  unless  supported  and  illuminated 
by  other  testimony. 

Sylvia  had  been  singularly  silent,  and  Mrs.  Owen's 
keen  eyes  saw  that  something  was  amiss.  She 
stopped  talking,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Now,  if  you 
young  folks  have  anything  troubling  you,  now 's  your 
time  to  come  out  with  it." 

An  old  clock  on  the  stair  landing  boomed  ten. 
Mrs.  Owen  stirred  restlessly.  Sylvia,  sitting  in  a 
low  chair  by  the  fire,  clasped  her  hands  abruptly, 
clenched  them  hard,  and  spoke,  turning  her  head 
slowly  until  her  eyes  rested  upon  Dan. 

"  Dan,"  she  asked,  "did  you  ever  know  —  do  you 
know  now  —  what  was  in  the  letter  you  carried  to 
Grandfather  Kelton  that  first  time  I  saw  you  —  the 
time  I  went  to  find  grandfather  for  you?" 

Dan  glanced  quickly  at  Mrs.  Owen. 

"Answer  Sylvia's  question,  Daniel,"  the  old  lady 
replied. 

"Yes;  I  learned  later  what  it  was.  And  Aunt 
Sally  knows." 

"Tell  me;  tell  me  what  you  know  about  it,  "com 
manded  Sylvia  gravely,  and  her  voice  was  clear  now. 

Dan  hesitated.  He  rose  and  stood  with  his  arm 
resting  on  the  mantel. 

"It's  all  right,  Daniel.  Now  that  Sylvia  has 
asked,  she  must  know  just  what  we  know,"  said 
Mrs.  Owen. 

"The  letter  was  among  your  grandfather's  papers. 
It  was  an  offer  to  pay  for  your  education.  It  was  an 
unsigned  letter." 

(557) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"But  you  know  who  wrote  it?"  asked  Sylvia,  not 
lifting  her  head. 

"No;  I  don't  know  that/' he  replied  earnestly; 
"we  haven't  the  slightest  idea." 

"But  how  did  you  come  to  be  the  messenger? 
Who  gave  you  the  letter?"  she  persisted  quietly. 

"Daniel  never  told  me  that,  Sylvia.  But  if  you 
want  to  know,  he  must  tell  you.  It  might  be  better 
for  you  not  to  know;  you  must  consider  that.  It  can 
make  no  difference  now  of  any  kind." 

"It  may  make  a  difference,"  said  Sylvia  brokenly, 
not  lifting  her  head;  "it  may  make  a  great  deal  of 
difference.  That's  why  I  speak  of  it;  that's  why  I 
must  know!" 

"Go  on,  Daniel;  answer  Sylvia's  question." 

"  Mr.  Fitch  gave  it  to  me.  It  had  been  entrusted  to 
him  for  delivery  by  a  personal  friend  or  a  client :  I 
never  knew.  He  assured  me  that  he  had  no  idea 
what  the  letter  contained;  but  he  knew  of  course 
where  it  came  from.  He  chose  me  for  the  errand,  I 
suppose,  because  I  was  a  new  man  in  the  office,  and 
a  comparative  stranger  in  town.  I  remember  that 
he  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  been  in  Montgomery,  as 
though  to  be  sure  I  had  no  acquaintances  there.  I 
carried  back  a  verbal  answer  —  which  was  stipulated 
in  the  letter.  The  answer  was  '  No,'  and  in  what  way 
Mr.  Fitch  passed  it  on  to  his  client  I  never  knew." 

"You  did  n't  tell  me  those  things  when  we  found 
the  letter,  Daniel,"  said  Mrs.  Owen  reproachfully. 

The  old  lady  opened  a  drawer,  found  a  chamois 
skin,  and  polished  her  glasses  slowly.  Dan  walked 
away  as  though  to  escape  from  that  figure  with 

(558) 


SYLVIA  ASKS  QUESTIONS 

averted  face  crouching  by  the  fire.  But  without 
moving  Sylvia  spoke  again,  with  a  monotonous  level 
of  tone,  and  her  question  had  the  empty  ring  of  a 
lawyer's  interrogatory  worn  threadbare  by  repeti 
tion  to  a  succession  of  witnesses :  - 

"At  that  time  was  Mr.  Basse tt  among  the  clients 
of  Wright  and  Fitch,  and  did  you  ever  see  him  in 
the  office  then,  or  at  any  time?" 

Mrs.  Owen  closed  the  drawer  deliberately  and 
raised  her  eyes  to  Dan's  affrighted  gaze. 

"Daniel,  you'd  better  run  along  now.  Sylvia's 
going  to  spend  the  night  here." 

Sylvia  had  not  moved  or  spoken  again  when  the 
outer  door  closed  on  Harwood. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

"MY  BEAUTIFUL  ONE" 

MISS  FARRELL  was  surprised  to  find  her 
employer  already  in  his  office  when  she 
unlocked  the  door  at  eight  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  and  her  surprise  was  increased  when 
Harwood,  always  punctilious  in  such  matters, 
ignored  the  good-morning  with  which  she  greeted 
him.  The  electric  lights  over  Dan's  desk  were  burn 
ing,  a  fact  not  lost  upon  his  stenographer.  It  was 
apparent  that  Harwood  had  either  spent  the  night 
in  his  office  or  had  gone  to  work  before  daylight. 
Rose's  eyes  were  as  sharp  as  her  wits,  and  she 
recognized  at  a  glance  the  file-envelopes  and  papers 
•relating  to  the  Kelton  estate,  many  of  them  super 
scribed  in  her  own  hand,  that  lay  on  Harwood's  desk. 
She  snapped  off  the  lights  with  an  air  that  implied 
reproof,  or  could  not  have  failed  of  that  effect  if 
the  man  at  the  desk  had  been  conscious  of  the  act. 
He  was  hopelessly  distraught  and  his  face  appeared 
no  less  pallid  in  daylight  than  in  the  electric  glare 
in  which  Rose  had  found  him.  As  the  girl  warmed 
her  hands  at  the  radiator  in  the  reception  room  the 
telephone  chimed  cheerily.  The  telephone  provides 
a  welcome  companionship  for  the  office  girl:  its  im 
portunities  and  insolences  are  at  once  her  delight  and 
despair.  Rose  took  down  the  receiver  with  relief. 

(560) 


MY  BEAUTIFUL  ONE 

She  parleyed  guardedly  with  an  unseen  questioner 
and  addressed  Harwood  from  the  door  in  the  cau 
tious,  apologetic  tone  with  which  wise  office  girls 
break  in  upon  the  meditations  of  their  employers. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Harwood.  Shall  I  say  you're 
engaged.  It's  Mr.  Thatcher." 

Dan  half-turned  and  replied  with  a  tameness  Rose 
had  not  expected. 

"Say  what  you  please,  Rose;  only  I  don't  want 
to  talk  to  him  or  see  him,  or  anybody." 

The  clock  in  the  court-house  tower  boomed  nine 
sombrely.  Dan  distrusted  its  accuracy  as  he  dis 
trusted  everything  in  the  world  that  morning.  He 
walked  listlessly  to  the  window  and  compared  the 
face  of  the  clock  with  his  watch.  He  had  thought 
it  must  be  noon;  but  the  hour  of  the  day  did  not 
matter  greatly. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Rose  meekly  from  the  door. 
"  I  told  him  you  were  probably  at  the  State  House." 

"Whom?  Oh,  thank  you,  Rose."  And  then,  as 
though  to  ease  her  conscience  for  this  mild  mendac 
ity,  he  added:  "  I  believe  I  did  have  an  engagement 
over  there  at  nine." 

"He  said  -  '  Rose  began  warily;  and  then  gave 
him  an  opportunity  to  cut  her  short. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Oh,  he  was  hot!  He  said  if  you  came  in  before 
he  found  you,  to  say  that  if  you  and  Ramsay  did  n't 
help  him  deliver  the  freight  to-day  he  would  get 
action  to-morrow;  that  that's  the  limit." 

"He  said  to-morrow,  did  he?  Very  well,  Rose. 
That's  all." 

(56i) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Rose,  virtuously  indexing  the  letter-book,  saw 
Harwood  as  he  idly  ranged  the  rooms  try  the  hall 
door  to  make  sure  it  was  bolted.  Then  he  stood  at  the 
window  of  his  own  room,  staring  at  nothing.  The 
telephone  chimed  cheerfully  at  intervals.  Ramsay 
sought  him ;  Thatcher  had  stationed  one  of  his  allies 
at  a  telephone  booth  in  the  State  House  corridor  to 
call  the  office  at  regular  intervals.  Newspaper  re 
porters  demanded  to  know  where  Harwood  could  be 
found;  the  governor,  rankling  under  the  criticism 
he  had  brought  upon  his  party  by  the  special  session, 
wished  to  see  Harwood  to  learn  when,  if  possible, 
the  legislature  would  take  itself  home.  To  these  con 
tinual  importunities  Rose  replied  in  tones  of  surprise, 
regret,  or  chagrin,  as  the  individual  case  demanded, 
without  again  troubling  her  employer.  The  index 
completed,  she  filed  papers,  smoothed  her  yellow 
hair  at  the  wash  stand,  exchanged  fraternal  signals 
with  a  girl  friend  in  the  office  opposite,  and  read 
the  "Courier's"  report  of  the  senatorial  struggle 
with  complete  understanding  of  its  intricacies. 

"Rose!" 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  Harwood  called  her. 
He  had  brushed  aside  the  mass  of  documents  she 
had  noted  on  her  arrival,  and  a  single  letter  sheet 
lay  before  him.  Without  glancing  up  he  bade  her 
sit  down.  She  had  brought  her  notebook  prepared  to 
take  dictation.  He  glanced  at  it  and  shook  his  head. 
The  tired,  indifferent  Harwood  she  had  found  at  the 
end  of  his  night  vigil  had  vanished;  he  was  once 
more  the  alert,  earnest  young  man  of  action  she 
admired. 

(562) 


MY  BEAUTIFUL  ONE 

"  Rose,  I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions.  I  think 
you  will  believe  me  if  I  say  that  I  should  n't  ask 
them  if  they  were  not  of  importance  —  of  very  great 
importance." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Harwood." 

Her  eyes  had  fallen  upon  the  letter  and  her  lids 
fluttered  quickly.  She  touched  her  pompadour  with 
the  back  of  her  hand  and  tightened  the  knot  of  her  tie. 

"This  is  on  the  dead,  Rose.  It  concerns  a  lot  of 
people,  and  it's  important  for  me  to  know  the  trutho 
And  it's  possible  that  you  may  not  be  able  to  help; 
but  if  you  can't  the  matter  ends  here." 

He  rose  and  closed  the  door  of  his  room  to  shut 
out  the  renewed  jingle  of  the  telephone. 

"I  want  you  to  look  at  this  letter  and  tell  me 
whether  you  ever  saw  it  before." 

She  took  it  from  him,  glanced  at  the  first  line  in 
differently,  looked  closely  at  the  paper,  and  gave  it 
back,  shaking  her  head. 

"We  never  had  anything  like  that  in  the  office, 
paper  or  machine  either.  That's  heavier  than  the 
stationery  you  had  over  in  the  Boordman  Building, 
and  that's  a  black  ribbon;  we've  always  used  purple 
copying-ribbons.  And  that  letter  was  n't  copied ;  you 
can  tell  that." 

"That  does  n't  answer  my  question,  Rose.  I  want 
to  know  whether  you  ever  saw  that  letter  before. 
Perhaps  you'd  better  take  another  look  at  it." 

"Oh,  I  can  tell  any  of  my  work  across  the  street! 
I  don't  know  anything  about  that  letter,  Mr.  Har 
wood." 

Her  indifference  had  yielded  to  respectful  indig- 

(563) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

nation.  She  set  her  lips  firmly,  and  her  blue  eyes 
expressed  surprise  that  her  employer  should  be  thus 
subjecting  her  to  cross-examination. 

"I  understand  perfectly,  Rose,  that  this  is  un 
usual,  and  that  it  is  not  quite  on  the  square.  But 
this  is  strictly  between  ourselves.  It's  on  the  dead, 
you  understand." 

''Oh,  I  'd  do  anything  for  you  that  I  'd  do  for  any 
body,  yes,  sir  —  I  'd  do  more :  but  I  refused  ten 
thousand  dollars  for  what  I  know  about  what  hap 
pened  in  the  Transportation  Committee  that  winter 
I  was  its  stenog.  That f s  a  lot  of  money ;  it  would  take 
care  of  me  for  the  rest  of  my  life;  and  you  know 
Thatcher  kept  after  me  until  I  had  to  tell  him  a 
few  things  I  'd  do  to  him  if  he  did  n't  let  me  alone. 
I'll  answer  your  question  straight,"  and  she  looked 
him  in  the  eye,  "  I  never  saw  that  letter  before,  and 
I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  Is  that  all?" 

"To  go  back  again,  Rose,"  resumed  Dan  patiently, 
"not  many  girls  would  have  the  strength  to  resist 
a  temptation  like  that,  as  you  did.  But  this  is  a 
very  different  case.  I  need  your  help,  but  it  is  n't 
for  myself  that  I  'm  trying  to  trace  that  letter.  If  it 
were  n't  a  matter  of  actual  need  I  should  n't  trouble 
you  —  be  sure  of  that." 

"I  always  thought  you  were  on  the  square,  but 
you're  asking  me  to  do  something  you  would  n't  do 
yourself.  And  I  've  told  you  again  that  I  don't  know 
anything  about  that  letter;  I  never  saw  it  before." 

She  tapped  the  edge  of  the  desk  to  hide  the  trem 
bling  of  her  fingers.  The  tears  shone  suddenly  in  her 
blue  eyes. 

(564) 


MY  BEAUTIFUL  ONE 

Dan  frowned,  but  the  frown  was  not  for  Rose.  She 
had  already  betrayed  herself;  he  was  confident  from 
her  manner  that  she  knew.  The  prompt  denial  of 
any  knowledge  of  the  fateful  sheet  of  paper  for  which 
he  had  hoped  all  night  had  not  been  forthcoming. 
But  mere  assumptions  would  not  serve  him ;  he  had 
walked  in  darkness  too  long  not  to  crave  the  full 
light.  The  pathos  of  this  girl's  loyalty  had  touched 
him;  her  chance  in  life  had  been  the  slightest,  she 
had  been  wayward  and  had  erred  deeply,  and  yet 
there  were  fastnesses  of  honor  in  her  soul  that  re 
mained  unassailable. 

Her  agitation  distressed  him;  he  had  never  seen 
her  like  this;  he  missed  the  little  affectations  and  the 
droll  retorts  that  had  always  amused  him.  She  was 
no  longer  the  imperturbable  and  ready  young  woman 
whose  unwearying  sunniness  and  amazing  intuitions 
had  so  often  helped  him  through  perplexities. 

"As  a  matter  of  your  own  honor,  Rose,  you 
would  n't  tell  me.  But  if  the  honor  of  some  one  else 

M 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  he  paused. 

"No,"  she  said.  "I'm  only  a  poor  little  devil  of 
a  stenog  and  I  've  been  clear  down,  —  you  know 
that,  —  but  I  won't  do  it.  I  turned  down  Thatcher's 
ten  thousand  dollars,  and  I  turned  it  down  hard. 
The  more  important  that  letter  is,  the  less  I  know 
about  it.  I  '11  go  into  court  and  swear  I  never  saw 
or  heard  of  it  before.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it.  If  you  want  me  to  quit,  it's  all  right;  it's  all 
right,  Mr.  Harwood.  You've  been  mighty  good  to 
me  and  I  hate  to  go;  but  I  guess  I  'd  better  quit." 

(565) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

He  did  not  speak  until  she  was  quite  calm  again. 
As  a  last  resource  he  must  shatter  her  fine  loyalty 
by  an  appeal  to  her  gratitude. 

"Rose,  if  some  one  you  knew  well  —  some  one 
who  had  been  the  kindest  of  friends,  and  who  had 
lent  you  a  hand  when  you  needed  it  most  —  were 
in  danger,  and  I  needed  your  help  to  protect  —  that 
person  —  would  you  tell  me?" 

Their  eyes  met;  she  looked  away,  and  then,  as  she 
met  his  gaze  again,  her  lips  parted  and  the  color 
deepened  in  her  face. 

"You  don't  mean  -     "  she  began. 

"I  mean  that  this  is  to  help  me  protect  a  dear 
friend  of  yours  and  of  mine.  I  should  n't  have  told 
you  this  if  it  had  n't  been  necessary.  It's  as  hard 
for  me  as  it  is  for  you,  Rose.  There's  a  great  deal 
at  stake.  Innocent  people  will  suffer  if  I  'm  unable 
to  manage  this  with  full  knowledge  of  all  the  facts. 
You  think  back,  six  years  ago  last  spring,  and  tell 
me  whether  you  have  any  knowledge,  no  matter  how 
indefinite,  as  to  where  that  letter  was  written." 

"You  say,"  she  began  haltingly,  "there's  a  friend 
of  mine  that  I  could  help  if  I  knew  anything  about 
your  letter  ?  You'll  have  to  tell  me  who  it  is." 

"I'd  rather  not  do  that;  I'd  rather  not  mention 
any  names,  not  even  to  you." 

She  was  drying  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief. 
Her  brows  knit,  she  bent  her  head  for  an  instant, 
and  then  stared  at  him  in  bewilderment  and  un 
belief,  and  her  lips  trembled. 

"You  don't  mean  my  friend  —  my  beautiful  one! 
—  not  the  one  who  picked  me  up  out  of  the  dirt  — " 

(566) 


MY  BEAUTIFUL  ONE 

She  choked  and  her  slender  frame  shook  —  and  then 
she  smiled  wanly  and  ended  with  the  tears  coursing 
down  her  cheeks.  "My  beautiful  one,  who  took  me 
home  again  and  kissed  me  —  she  kissed  me  here!" 
She  touched  her  forehead  as  though  the  act  were 
part  of  some  ritual,  then  covered  her  eyes. 

"You  don't  mean"  -  she  cried  out  suddenly,  — 
"you  don't  mean  it's  that!" 

"No;  it's  not  that;  far  from  that"  replied  Dan 
sadly,  knowing  what  was  in  her  mind. 

He  went  out  and  closed  the  door  upon  her.  He 
called  Mrs.  Owen  on  the  telephone  and  told  her  he 
would  be  up  immediately.  Then  he  went  back  to 
Rose. 

"It  was  like  this,  Mr.  Harwood,"  said  the  girl, 
quite  composed  again.  "  I  knew  him  —  pretty  well 
—  you  know  the  man  I  mean.  After  that  Transport 
ation  Committee  work  I  guess  he  thought  he  had  to 
keep  his  hand  on  me.  He's  like  that,  you  know.  If 
he  thinks  anybody  knows  anything  on  him  he 
watches  them  and  keeps  a  tight  grip  on  them,  all 
right.  You  know  that  about  him?" 

Dan  nodded.  He  saw  how  the  web  of  circumstance 
had  enmeshed  him  from  the  beginning.  All  the  in 
cidents  of  that  chance  visit  to  Fraserville  to  write 
the  sketch  of  Bassett  for  the  "Courier"  lived  in  his 
memory.  Something  had  been  said  there  about 
Madison  College;  and  his  connection  with  Fitch's 
office  had  been  mentioned,  and  on  the  fears  thus 
roused  in  Morton  Bassett,  he,  Daniel  Harwood,  had 
reared  a  tottering  superstructure  of  aims,  hopes, 
ambitions,  that  threatened  to  overwhelm  him!  But 

(567) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

now,  as  the  first  shock  passed,  he  saw  all  things 
clearly.  He  would  save  Sylvia  even  though  Bassett 
must  be  saved  first.  If  Thatcher  could  be  silenced 
in  no  other  way,  he  might  have  the  senatorship;  — 
or  Dan  would  go  direct  to  Bassett  and  demand  that 
he  withdraw  from  the  contest.  He  was  not  afraid  of 
Morton  Bassett  now. 

' '  I  had  gone  to  work  for  that  construction  com 
pany  in  the  Boordman  where  you  found  me.  It  was 
his  idea  to  move  me  into  your  office  —  I  guess  you 
thought  you  picked  me  out;  but  he  gave  me  a  quiet 
tip  to  ask  you  for  the  job.  Well,  he'd  been  dropping 
into  the  construction  office  now  and  then  to  see  me 
-  you  know  the  boss  was  never  in  town  and  I  had 
n't  much  to  do.  He  used  to  dictate  letters  —  said  he 
could  n't  trust  the  public  stenogs  in  the  hotels;  and 
one  day  he  gave  me  that  letter  to  copy.  He  had  writ 
ten  it  out  in  lead  pencil  beforehand,  but  seemed 
mighty  anxious  to  get  it  just  right.  After  I  copied 
it  he  worked  it  over  several  times,  before  he  got  it 
to  suit  him.  He  said  it  was  a  little  business  he  was 
attending  to  for  a  friend.  We  burnt  up  the  discards 
in  the  little  old  grate  in  the  office.  He  had  brought 
some  paper  and  envelopes  along  with  him,  and  I  re 
member  he  held  a  sheet  up  to  the  light  to  make  sure 
it  did  n't  have  a  watermark.  He  threw  down  a 
twenty-dollar  gold  piece  and  took  the  letter  away 
with  him.  After  I  had  moved  into  your  office  he 
spoke  of  that  letter  once  :  one  day  when  you  were 
out  he  asked  me  how  much  money  had  been  men 
tioned  in  the  letter." 
"When  was  that,  Rose?" 
(568) 


MY  BEAUTIFUL  ONE 

"A  few  days  after  the  state  convention  when  you 
shot  the  hot  tacks  into  Thatcher.  He  had  been  at 
Waupegan,  you  remember." 

Dan  remembered.  And  he  recalled  also  that  Bas- 
sett  had  seen  Sylvia  at  Mrs.  Owen's  the  day  follow 
ing  the  convention,  and  it  was  not  astonishing  that 
the  sight  of  her  had  reminded  him  of  his  offer  to  pay 
for  her  education.  His  own  relation  to  the  matter 
was  clear  enough  now  that  Rose  had  yielded  her 
secret. 

Rose  watched  him  as  he  drew  on  his  overcoat  and 
she  handed  him  his  hat  and  gloves.  Her  friend, 
"the  beautiful  one,"  would  not  suffer;  she  was  con 
fident  of  this,  now  that  Harwood  was  fully  armed 
to  protect  her. 

"Keep  after  Ramsay  by  telephone  until  you  find 
him.  Tell  him  to  come  here  and  wait  for  me  if  it's  all 
day.  If  you  fail  to  catch  him  by  telephone,  go  out 
and  look  for  him  and  bring  him  here." 

In  a  moment  he  was  hurrying  toward  Mrs. 
Owen's. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE   MAN  OF   SHADOWS 

THE  dome  was  a  great  blot  against  the  stars 
when,  shortly  after  eight  o'clock  that  even 
ing,  Sylvia  entered  the  capitol. 
All  night,  in  the  room  she  had  occupied  on  that 
far  day  of  her  first  visit  to  Mrs.  Owen,  Sylvia  had 
pondered.    It  is  not  for  us  to  know  what  passed  in 
that  still  chamber  between  her  and  her  friend;  but 
it  was  the  way  of  both  women  to  meet  the  truth 
squarely.     They  discussed  facts  impersonally,  dis 
passionately,  and  what  Sylvia  had  assumed,  her  old 
friend  could  not  controvert.    Not  what  others  had 
done,  not  what  others  might  do,  but  what  course 
Sylvia  should  follow  —  this  was  the  crux  of  the 
situation. 

"  I  must  think  it  out;  I  must  think  it  out/'  Sylvia 
kept  repeating.  At  last  Mrs.  Owen  left  her  lying 
dressed  on  the  bed,  and  all  night  Sylvia  lay  there  in 
the  dark.  Toward  morning  she  had  slept,  and  later 
when  Mrs.  Owen  carried  up  her  breakfast  she  did 
not  refer  to  her  trouble  except  to  ask  whether  there 
was  any  news.  Mrs.  Owen  understood  and  replied 
that  there  was  nothing.  Sylvia  merely  answered  and 
said:  "Then  there  is  still  time."  What  she  meant 
by  this  her  kind  old  friend  did  not  know;  but  she 
had  faith  in  her  Sylvia.  Dan  came,  but  he  saw  Mrs. 

(570) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

Owen  only.  Later  Sylvia  asked  what  he  had  said, 
and  she  merely  nodded  when  Rose's  story  was  re 
peated.  Again  she  said:  "  Yes;  there  is  still  time." 

Sylvia  had  kept  her  room  all  day,  and  Mrs.  Owen 
had  rigidly  respected  her  wish  to  be  alone.  She  vol 
untarily  appeared  at  the  evening  meal  and  talked 
of  irrelevant  things:  of  her  school  work,  of  the  sale 
of  the  house  at  Montgomery,  of  the  projected  school 
at  Waupegan. 

"  I  'm  going  out  for  a  while,"  she  said,  after  an  hour 
in  the  little  office.  "I  shan't  be  gone  long,  Aunt 
Sally;  don't  trouble  about  me.  I  have  my  key,  you 
know." 

When  she  had  gone,  Mrs.  Owen  called  one  of  the 
colored  men  from  the  stable  and  gave  him  a  line  to 
Harwood,  with  a  list  of  places  where  Dan  might  be 
found.  Her  message  was  contained  in  a  single  line:— 

"  Sylvia  has  left  the  house.  Keep  an  eye  out  for 
her;  she  told  me  nothing." 

Sylvia  found  consolation  and  courage  in  the  cold 
night  air;  her  old  friends  the  stars,  whose  names  she 
had  learned  before  she  knew  her  letters,  did  not 
leave  her  comfortless.  They  had  unconsciously  con 
tributed  to  her  gift  for  seeing  life  in  long  vistas. 
"When  you  are  looking  at  the  stars,"  Professor 
Kelton  used  to  say,  "you  are  not  thinking  of  your 
self."  It  was  not  of  herself  that  Sylvia  was  thinking. 

She  prolonged  her  walk,  gathering  strength  as  the 
exercise  warmed  her  blood,  planning  what  she  meant 
to  do,  even  repeating  to  herself  phrases  she  meant 

(571) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

to  use.  So  it  happened  that  Mrs.  Owen's  messenger 
had  found  Dan  at  the  State  House  and  delivered 
the  note,  and  that  Dan,  called  from  a  prolonged 
conference  with  Ramsay,  saw  Sylvia's  unmistak 
able  figure  as  she  reached  the  top  of  the  stairway, 
watched  her  making  inquiries  of  a  lounger,  saw  men 
staring  at  her.  It  crossed  his  mind  that  she  was  seek 
ing  him,  and  he  started  toward  her;  but  she  had 
stopped  again  to  question  one  of  the  idlers  in  the 
hall.  He  saw  her  knock  at  a  door  and  knew  it 
was  Bassett's  room  —  a  room  that  for  years  had 
been  set  apart  for  the  private  councils  of  the  senator 
from  Fraser.  As  Sylvia  knocked,  several  men  came 
out,  as  though  the  interruption  had  terminated  an 
interview.  The  unveiled  face  of  the  tall,  dark  girl 
called  for  a  second  glance;  it  was  an  odd  place  for  a 
pretty  young  woman  to  be  seeking  Morton  Bassett. 
They  looked  at  each  other  and  grinned. 

A  single  lamp  on  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  high- 
ceilinged  room  shed  a  narrow  circle  of  light  that 
deepened  the  shadows  of  the  walls.  Bassett,  stand 
ing  by  a  window,  was  aware  of  a  lighter  step  than 
was  usual  in  this  plotting  chamber.  He  advanced 
toward  the  table  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
waited  till  Sylvia  was  disclosed  by  the  lamp,  stopped 
abruptly,  stared  at  her  with  eyes  that  seemed  not 
to  see  her.  Then  he  placed  a  chair  for  her,  mut 
tering:  — 

"  I  thought  you  would  come." 

It  seemed  to  her  that  a  sigh  broke  from  him,  hid 
den  by  the  scraping  of  the  chair  across  the  bare  floor. 
He  crossed  and  recrossed  the  floor  several  times,  as 

(572) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

though  now  that  she  had  come  he  had  dismissed  her 
from  his  thoughts.  Then  as  he  passed  near  her  with 
slow,  heavy  step  she  spoke. 

"  I  came  to  talk  to  you,  Mr.  Bassett.  Please  turn 
on  the  other  lights." 

" Pardon  me,"  he  said;  and  she  heard  his  fingers 
fumbling  for  the  switch  by  the  door.  In  a  moment 
the  room  was  flooded  from  the  chandelier  overhead, 
and  he  returned,  and  sat  down  by  the  table  without 
looking  at  her. 

"I  should  n't  have  come  here,  but  I  knew  of  no 
other  way.  It  seemed  best  to  see  you  to-night." 

"It's  all  right,"  he  replied  indifferently. 

He  sat  drooping,  as  though  the  light  had  in  it 
self  a  weight  that  bore  him  down.  His  face  was 
gray;  his  hands  hung  impotently  from  the  arms  of 
his  chair.  He  still  did  not  meet  her  eyes,  which  had 
taken  in  every  line  of  his  figure,  the  little  details  of 
his  dress,  even  the  inconspicuous  pearl  pin  thrust 
through  the  loose  ends  of  his  tie.  A  man  opened  the 
door  hurriedly  and  peered  in:  Bassett  was  wanted 
elsewhere,  he  said.  Without  rising  Bassett  bade  him 
wait  outside.  The  man  seemed  to  understand  that  he 
was  to  act  as  guard,  and  he  began  patroling  the  cor 
ridor.  The  sound  of  his  steps  on  the  tiles  was  plainly 
distinguishable  as  he  passed  the  door. 

11  It's  all  right  now,"  Bassett  explained.  "No  one 
will  come  in  here." 

He  threw  his  arm  over  the  back  of  his  chair  and 
bent  upon  Sylvia  a  glance  of  mingled  curiosity  and 
indifference. 

"I  understand,"  she  said  quietly,  "that  nothing 

(573) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

has  been  done.  It  is  not  yet  too  late.  The  situation 
here  is  as  it  has  been?" 

"Yes;  if  you  mean  out  there.  They  are  waiting 
for  me." 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Harwood  is  there,  and  Mr. 
Thatcher." 

He  blinked  at  the  names  and  changed  his  position 
slightly. 

"  I  dare  say  they  are,"  he  answered  coldly. 

11 1  thought  it  best  to  see  you  and  talk  to  you;  and 
I  'm  glad  I  knew  before  it  was  too  late." 

His  eyes  surveyed  her  slowly  now  from  head  to 
foot.  Why  was  she  glad  she  had  known  before  it  was 
too  late?  Her  calmness  made  him  uneasy,  restless. 
It  was  a  familiar  characteristic  of  Morton  Bassett 
that  he  met  storm  and  stress  stoically.  He  was 
prepared  for  scorn,  recrimination,  tears;  but  this 
dark-eyed  girl,  sitting  before  him  in  her  gray  walk 
ing-dress  and  plain  hat  with  a  bunch  of  scarlet 
flowers  showing  through  the  veil  she  had  caught  up 
over  them,  seemed  in  no  danger  of  yielding  to  tears. 
Her  voice  fell  in  cool,  even  tones.  He  had  said  that 
he  expected  her,  but  she  did  not  know  what  manner 
of  meeting  he  had  been  counting  on  in  his  specula 
tions.  After  a  long  look  he  passed  his  hand  across 
his  face. 

"I  hope  you  haven't  thought  —  you  didn't 
think  I  should  let  them  bring  you  into  it." 

He  spoke  as  though  this  were  something  due  her; 
that  she  was  entitled  to  his  reassurance  that  the 
threatened  cataclysm  should  not  drag  her  down  with 
him.  When  she  made  no  reply  he  seemed  to  feel 

(574) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

that  he  had  not  made  himself  clear,  and  he  repeated, 
in  other  terms,  that  she  need  not  be  concerned  for 
the  outcome;  that  he  meant  to  shield  her. 

"Yes;  I  supposed  you  would  do  that;  I  had  ex 
pected  that." 

"And,"  he  went  on,  as  though  to  anticipate  her, 
to  eliminate  the  necessity  for  her  further  explana 
tions,  "you  have  a  right  to  ask  what  you  please.  Or 
we  can  meet  again  to  arrange  matters.  I  am  pre 
pared  to  satisfy  your  demands  in  the  fullest  sense." 

His  embarrassment  had  passed.  She  had  sought 
the  interview,  but  he  had  taken  charge  of  it.  Be 
yond  the  closed  door  the  stage  waited.  This  was  the 
briefest  interlude  before  the  moment  of  his  triumph 
ant  entrance. 

Sylvia  smiled,  an  incredulous  smile,  and  shook  her 
head  slowly,  like  a  worn,  tired  mother  whose  patience 
is  sorely  taxed  by  a  stubborn,  unyielding  child  at  her 
knee.  Her  lips  trembled,  but  she  bent  her  head  for  a 
moment  and  then  spoke  more  quickly  than  before, 
as  though  overriding  some  inner  spirit  that  strove 
rebelliously  within  her  breast. 

"I  know  —  almost  all  I  ever  need  to  know.  But 
there  are  some  things  you  must  tell  me  now.  This 
is  the  first  —  and  the  last  —  time  that  I  shall  ever 
speak  to  you  of  these  things.  I  know  enough  — 
things  I  have  stumbled  upon  —  and  I  have  built 
them  up  until  I  see  the  horror,  the  blackness.  And 
I  want  to  feel  sure  that  you,  too,  see  the  pity  of  it 
all." 

Her  note  of  subdued  passion  roused  him  now  to 
earnestness,  and  he.  framed  a  disavowal  of  the  worst 

(575) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

she  might  have  imagined.  He  could  calm  her  fears 
at  once,  and  the  lines  in  his  face  relaxed  at  the 
thought  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  afford  her  this 
relief. 

"I  married  your  mother.  There  was  nothing 
wrong  about  it.  It  was  all  straight." 

"And  you  thought,  oh,  you  thought  I  came  for 
that  —  you  believed  I  came  to  have  you  satisfy  me 
of  her  honor!  I  never  doubted  her!"  and  she  lifted 
her  head  proudly.  "And  that  is  what  you  thought 
I  came  for?"  The  indignation  that  flashed  in  her 
first  stammered  sentences  died  falteringly  in  a  con 
temptuous  whisper. 

Her  words  had  cut  him  deep;  he  turned  away 
aimlessly,  fingering  some  papers  on  the  table  beside 
him.  Then  he  plunged  to  the  heart  of  the  matter,  as 
though  in  haste  to  exculpate  himself. 

"  I  never  meant  that  it  should  happen  as  it  did.  I 
knew  her  in  New  York  when  we  were  both  students 
there.  My  father  had  been  ill  a  long  time;  he  was 
bent  upon  my  marrying  the  daughter  of  his  old  friend 
Singleton,  a  man  of  wealth  and  influence  in  our  part 
of  the  state.  I  persuaded  your  mother  to  run  away 
and  we  were  married,  under  an  assumed  name,  — 
but  it  was  a  marriage  good  in  law.  There 's  no  ques 
tion  of  that,  you  understand.  Then  I  left  her  up 
there  in  the  Adirondacks,  and  went  home.  My  fa 
ther's  illness  was  prolonged,  and  his  condition  justi 
fied  me  in  asking  your  mother  to  wait.  She  knew 
the  circumstances  and  agreed  to  remain  away  until  I 
saw  my  way  clear  to  acknowledging  her  and  taking 
her  home.  You  were  born  up  there.  Your  mother 

(576) 


THE  MAN   OF  SHADOWS 

grew  impatient  and  hurt  because  I  could  not  go 
back  to  her.  But  I  could  not  —  it  would  have  ruined 
all  my  chances  at  home.  When  I  went  to  find  my 
wife  she  had  disappeared.  She  was  a  proud  woman, 
and  I  suppose  she  had  good  cause  for  hating  me." 

He  told  the  story  fully,  filling  in  the  gaps  in  her 
own  knowledge.  He  did  not  disguise  the  fact  of  his 
own  half-hearted  search  for  the  woman  he  had  de 
serted.  He  even  told  of  the  precautions  he  had  taken 
to  assure  himself  of  the  death  of  Edna  Kelton  by 
visiting  Montgomery  to  look  at  her  grave  before  his 
marriage  to  Hallie  Singleton.  He  had  gone  back 
again  shortly  before  he  made  the  offer  to  pay  for 
Sylvia's  schooling,  and  had  seen  her  with  her  grand 
father  in  the  little  garden  among  the  roses. 

Outside  the  guard  slowly  passed  back  and  forth. 
Sylvia  did  not  speak ;  her  seeming  inattention  vexed 
and  perplexed  him.  He  thought  her  lacking  in  ap 
preciation  of  his  frankness. 

"Thatcher  knows  much  of  this  story,  but  he 
does  n't  know  the  whole,"  he  went  on.  "  He  believes 
it  was  irregular.  He 's  been  keeping  it  back  to  spring 
as  a  sensation.  He's  told  those  men  out  there  that 
he  can  break  me;  that  at  the  last  minute  he  will 
crush  me.  They  're  waiting  for  me  now  -  -  Thatcher 
and  his  crowd;  probably  chuckling  to  think  how  at 
last  they've  got  me  cornered.  That's  the  situation. 
They  think  they're  about  rid  of  Morton  Bassett." 

"You  left  her;  you  deserted  her;  you  left  her  to 
die  alone,  unprotected,  without  even  a  name.  You 
accepted  her  loyalty  and  fidelity,  and  then  threw 
her  aside;  you  slunk  away  alone  to  her  grave  to  be 

(577) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

sure  she  would  n't  trouble  you  again.  Oh,  it  is  black, 
it  is  horrible!" 

Sylvia  was  looking  at  him  with  a  kind  of  awed 
wonder  in  her  eyes.  For  an  instant  there  had  been 
a  faint  suggestion  of  contrition  in  his  tone,  but  it  was 
overwhelmed  by  his  desire  for  self-justification.  It 
was  of  himself  he  was  thinking,  not  of  the  deed  in 
itself,  not  of  the  woman  he  had  left  to  bear  her  child 
in  an  alien  wilderness. 

"I  tried  to  do  what  I  could  for  you.  I  want  you 
to  know  that.  I  meant  to  have  cared  for  you,  that 
no  harm  should  come  to  you,"  he  said,  and  the 
words  jarred  upon  his  own  ears  as  he  spoke  them. 

In  her  face  there  was  less  of  disdain  than  of  marveL 
He  wished  to  escape  from  her  eyes,  but  they  held  him 
fast.  Messengers  ran  hurriedly  through  the  corri 
dors;  men  passed  the  door  talking  in  tones  faintly 
audible;  but  the  excitement  in  the  rival  camps  com 
municated  nothing  of  its  intensity  to  this  quiet 
chamber.  Men  had  feared  Morton  Bassett;  this  girl, 
with  her  wondering  dark  eyes,  did  not  fear  him.  But 
he  was  following  a  course  he  had  planned  for  this 
meeting,  and  he  dared  not  shift  his  ground. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  think  that  I  have  n't  been 
grieved  to  see  you  working  for  your  living;  I  never 
meant  that  you  should  do  that.  Hereafter  that  will 
be  unnecessary;  but  I  am  busy  to-night.  To-morrow, 
at  any  time  you  say,  we  will  talk  of  those  things." 

There  was  dismissal  in  his  manner  and  tone.  He 
was  anxious  to  be  rid  of  her.  The  color  deepened  in 
her  olive  cheeks,  but  she  bent  upon  him  once  more 
her  patient,  wondering,  baffling  smile. 

(578) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

"Please  never  propose  such  a  thing  again,  Mr. 
Bassett.  There  is  absolutely  nothing  of  that  kind 
that  you  can  do  for  me." 

"You  want  to  make  it  hard  for  me;  but  I  hope  you 
will  think  better  of  that.  It  is  right  that  I  should 
make  the  only  reparation  that  is  possible  now." 

This  rang  so  false  and  was  so  palpably  insincere 
that  he  was  relieved  when  she  ignored  it. 

"You  said  a  moment  ago  that  your  enemies, 
waiting  out  there,  thought  they  had  you  beaten.  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  just  how  you  propose  to  meet 
Mr.  Thatcher's  threat." 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?"  he  broke  out  angrily. 
"I'm  going  into  that  caucus  and  beat  Thatcher's 
game;  I'm  going  to  tell  his  story  first!  But  don't 
misunderstand  me;  I'm  going  to  protect  you.  I 
know  men,  and  those  men  will  respect  me  for  com 
ing  out  with  it.  I  have  n't  been  in  politics  all  these 
years  to  be  beaten  at  last  by  Ed  Thatcher.  I've 
pledged  votes  enough  to-day  to  give  me  a  majority 
of  three  on  the  next  ballot;  but  I  '11  explode  Thatch 
er's  bombshell  in  his  own  hands.  I  'm  all  prepared 
for  him ;  I  have  the  documents  —  the  marriage 
certificate  and  the  whole  business.  But  you  won't 
suffer;  you  won't  be  brought  into  it.  That's  what 
I  'm  going  to  do  about  it! " 

The  failure  of  his  declaration  to  shake  her  com 
posure  disturbed  him;  perhaps  after  all  his  con 
templated  coup  was  not  so  charged  with  electricity 
as  he  had  imagined.  Nothing  in  his  bald  statement 
of  his  marriage  to  her  mother  and  the  subsequent 
desertion  had  evoked  the  reproach,  the  recrimina- 

(579) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

tion,  for  which  he  had  steeled  himself  when  she 
entered  the  room.  He  felt  his  hold  upon  the  inter 
view  lessening.  He  had  believed  himself  expert  in 
calculating  effects,  yet  apparently  she  had  heard  his 
announcement,  delivered  with  a  brutal  directness, 
without  emotion. 

"This  is  n't  quite  all,  Mr.  Bassett,"  Sylvia  began 
after  a  moment.  "You  have  offered  me  reparation, 
or  what  you  called  by  that  name.  You  can't  deny 
that  I  have  a  right  to  be  satisfied  with  that  repara 
tion." 

"Certainly;  anything  in  reason.    It  is  for  you  to 
name  the  terms ;   I   expect  you  to  make  them  - 
adequate." 

"Let  us  go  back  a  moment,"  she  began,  smiling 
at  the  care  with  which  he  had  chosen  his  last  word. 
"Last  night  I  fought  out  for  myself  the  whole 
matter  of  your  scoundrelly,  cowardly  treatment  of 
my  mother.  You  can  make  no  reparation  to  her. 
The  time  passed  long  ago  for  that.  And  there  is 
absolutely  nothing  you  can  do  for  me.  I  will  accept 
nothing  from  you,  neither  the  name  you  denied  to 
her  nor  money,  now  or  later.  So  there  is  only  one 
other  person  whose  interest  or  whose  happiness  we 
need  consider." 

He  stared  at  her  frowning,  not  understanding. 
Once  more,  as  on  that  day  when  she  had  laughed 
at  him,  or  again  when  she  had  taken  the  affairs  of 
his  own  household  into  her  hands,  he  was  conscious 
of  the  strength  that  lay  in  her,  of  her  power  to  drive 
him  back  upon  himself.  Something  of  his  own 
masterful  spirit  had  entered  into  her,  but  with  a 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

difference.  Her  self-control,  her  patient  persistence, 
her  sobriety  of  judgment,  her  reasoning  mind,  were 
like  his  own.  She  was  as  keen  and  resourceful  as  he, 
and  he  was  eager  for  the  explanation  she  withheld, 
as  though,  knowing  that  she  had  driven  in  his 
pickets,  he  awaited  the  charge  of  her  lines.  He  bent 
toward  her,  feeling  her  charm,  yielding  to  the  fas 
cination  she  had  for  him. 

"No,"  he  said  gently  and  kindly.  "I  don't  see;  I 
don't  understand  you." 

She  saw  and  felt  the  change  in  him ;  but  she  was 
on  guard  against  a  reaction.  He  could  not  know 
how  her  heart  throbbed,  or  how  it  had  seemed  for 
a  moment  that  words  would  not  come  to  her  lips. 

"  It  is  to  you ;  it  is  to  yourself  that  you  must  make 
the  reparation.  And  you  must  make  it  now.  There 
may  never  be  a  time  like  this;  it  is  your  great  op 
portunity." 

"You  think,  you  ask  — "he  began  warily;  and  she 
was  quick  to  see  that  the  precise  moment  for  the 
full  stroke  had  not  come;  that  the  ground  required 
preparation. 

"  I  think,"  she  interrupted,  smiling  gravely,  "that 
you  want  me  to  be  your  friend.  More  than  that,  we 
have  long  been  friends.  And  deep  down  in  your 
heart  I  believe  you  want  my  regard ;  you  want  me  to 
think  well  of  you.  And  I  must  tell  you  that  there's 
a  kind  of  happiness  —  for  it  must  be  happiness  - 
that  comes  to  me  at  the  thought  of  it.  Something 
there  is  between  you  and  me  that  is  different ;  some 
how  we  understand  each  other." 

His  response  was  beyond  anything  she  had  hoped 

(58i) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

for;  a  light  shone  suddenly  in  his  face.  There  was  no 
doubt  of  the  sincerity  of  the  feeling  with  which  he 
replied :  — 

"  Yes;  I  have  felt  it;  I  felt  it  the  first  day  we  met!" 

"And  because  there  is  this  understanding,  this  tie, 
I  dare  to  be  frank  with  you :  I  mean  to  make  your 
reparation  difficult.  But  you  will  not  refuse  it;  you 
will  not  disappoint  me.  I  mean,  that  you  must 
throw  away  the  victory  you  are  prepared  to  win." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  but  he  could  not  evade 
the  pleading  of  her  eyes. 

"I  can't  do  it;  it's  too  much,"  he  muttered.  "It's 
the  goal  I  have  sought  for  ten  years.  It  woqld  be 
like  throwing  away  life  itself." 

"Yes;  it  would  be  bitter;  but  it  would  be  the  first 
sacrifice  you  ever  made  in  your  life.  You  have  built 
your  life  on  lies.  You  have  lurked  in  shadows,  hating 
the  light.  You  have  done  your  work  in  the  dark, 
creeping,  hiding,  mocking,  vanishing.  What  you 
propose  doing  to-night  in  anticipating  the  blow  of 
your  enemy  is  only  an  act  of  bravado.  There  is  no 
real  courage  in  that.  When  you  thrust  Dan  Har- 
wood  into  the  convention  to  utter  your  sneer  for 
you,  it  was  the  act  of  a  coward.  And  that  was  con 
temptible  cowardice.  You  picked  him  up,  a  clean 
young  man  of  ideals,  and  tried  to  train  him  in  your 
cowardly  shadow  ways.  When  the  pricking  of  your 
conscience  made  you  feel  some  responsibility  for  me, 
you  manifested  it  like  a  coward.  You  sent  a  cowardly 
message  to  the  best  man  that  ever  lived,  not  know 
ing,  not  caring  how  it  would  wound  him.  And  you 
have  been  a  great  thief,  stealing  away  from  men  the 

(582) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

thing  they  should  prize  most,  but  you  have  taught 
them  to  distrust  it  —  their  faith  in  their  country  — 
even  more,  their  faith  in  each  other!  The  shadows 
have  followed  you  to  your  own  home.  You  have 
hidden  yourself  behind  a  veil  of  mystery,  so  that 
your  own  wife  and  children  don't  know  the  man 
you  are.  You  have  never  been  true  to  anything  — 
not  to  yourself,  not  to  those  who  should  be  near  and 
dear  to  you.  And  you  have  sneered  at  the  people 
who  send  you  here  to  represent  them;  you  have 
betrayed  them,  not  once  but  a  hundred  times;  and 
you  know  it  has  n't  paid.  You  are  the  unhappiest 
man  in  the  world.  But  there's  a  real  power  in  you, 
or  you  could  never  have  done  the  things  you  have 
done  —  the  mean  and  vile  things.  You  have  brains 
and  a  genius  for  organizing  and  managing  men.  You 
could  never  have  lasted  so  long  without  the  personal 
qualities  that  a  man  must  have  to  lead  men.  And 
you  have  led  them,  down  and  down." 

To  all  appearances  she  had  spoken  to  dull  ears. 
Occasionally  their  eyes  had  met,  but  his  gaze  had 
wandered  away  to  range  the  walls.  When  she  ceased 
he  moved  restlessly  about  the  room. 

"You  think  I  am  as  bad  as  that?"  he  asked, 
pausing  by  the  table  and  looking  down  at  her. 

"You  are  as  bad  —  and  as  good  —  as  that,"  she 
replied,  the  hope  that  stirred  in  her  heart  lighting 
her  face. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  sat  down. 

"You  have  the  wit  to  see  that  the  old  order  of 
things  is  passing;  the  old  apparatus  you  have  learned 
to  operate  with  a  turn  of  the  hand  is  out  of  date. 

(583) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

Now  is  your  chance  to  leave  the  shadow  life  and 
begin  again.  It's  not  too  late  to  win  the  confidence 
-the  gratitude  even — of  the  people  who  now  dis 
trust  and  fear  you.  The  day  of  reckoning  is  coming 
fast  for  men  like  you,  who  have  made  a  mystery  of 
politics,  playing  it  as  a  game  in  the  dark.  I  don't 
pretend  to  know  much  of  these  things,  but  I  can  see 
that  men  of  your  type  are  passing  out;  there  would 
be  no  great  glory  for  you  in  waiting  to  be  the  last 
to  go.  And  there  are  things  enough  for  you  to  do. 
If  you  ally  yourself  with  the  good  causes  that  cry 
for  support  and  leadership,  you  can  be  far  more  for 
midable  than  you  have  ever  been  as  a  skulking 
trickster;  you  can  lead  men  up  as  you  have  led 
them  down." 

"The  change  is  coming;  I  have  seen  it  coming,"  he 
replied,  catching  at  the  one  thing  it  seemed  safest  to 
approve. 

But  she  was  not  to  be  thwarted  by  his  acquiescence 
in  generalities.  He  saw  that  she  had  brought  him 
back  to  a  point  whence  he  must  elect  his  course,  but 
he  did  not  flinch  at  the  flat  restatement  of  her 
demand. 

"You  have  done  nothing  to  deserve  the  senator- 
ship  ;  you  are  not  the  choice  of  the  people  of  this  state. 
You  must  relinquish  it;  you  must  give  it  up!" 

The  earnestness  with  which  she  uttered  her  last 
words  seemed,  to  her  surprise,  to  amuse  him. 

"You  think,"  he  said,  "that  I  should  go  back  and 
make  a  new  start  by  a  different  route?  But  I  don't 
know  the  schedule;  my  transportation  is  good  on 
only  one  line."  And  he  grinned  at  his  joke. 

(584) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

"Oh,  you  will  have  to  pay  your  fare!"  she  replied 
quickly.  "  You've  never  done  that." 

His  grin  became  a  smile,  and  he  said:  "  You  want 
me  to  walk  if  I  can't  pay  my  way ! " 

"Yes,"  she  laughed  happily,  feeling  that  her  vic 
tory  was  half  won;  " ancl  you  would  have  to  be  care 
ful  to  stop,  look,  and  listen  at  the  crossings!" 

The  allusion  further  eased  the  stress  of  the  hour; 
humor  shone  in  his  gray  eyes.  He  consulted  his 
watch,  frowned,  bent  his  eyes  upon  the  floor,  then 
turned  to  her  with  disconcerting  abruptness. 

"  I  have  n't  been  half  the  boss  you  think  me.  I  Ve 
been  hedged  in,  cramped,  and  shackled.  All  these 
fellows  who  hop  the  stick  when  I  say  'Jump'  have 
their  little  axes  I  must  help  grind.  I've  fooled 
away  the  best  years  of  my  life  taking  care  of  these 
little  fellows,  and  I  Ve  spent  a  lot  of  money  on  them. 
It 's  become  a  little  monotonous,  I  can  tell  you.  It's 
begun  to  get  on  my  nerves,  for  I  have  a  few;  and 
all  this  hammering  I  Ve  taken  from  the  newspapers 
has  begun  to  make  me  hot.  I  know  about  as  much 
as  they  do  about  the  right  and  wrong  of  things;  I 
suppose  I  know  something  about  government  and 
the  law  too!" 

"Yes,"  Sylvia  assented  eagerly. 

He  readjusted  himself  in  his  chair,  crossing  his  legs 
and  thrusting  his  hands  into  his  trousers  pockets. 

"It  would  be  rather  cheerful  and  comfortable," 
he  continued  musingly,  as  though  unburdening  him 
self  of  old  grievances,  "to  be  free  to  do  as  you  like 
once  in  a  lifetime!  Those  fellows  in  Thatcher's  herd 
who  have  practically  sold  out  to  me  and  are  ready  to 

(585) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

deliver  the  goods  to-night  are  all  rascals,  swung  my 
way  by  a  few  corporations  that  would  like  to  have 
me  in  Washington.  It  would  be  a  good  joke  to  fool 
them  and  elect  a  man  who  could  n't  be  bought!  It's 
funny,  but  I've  wondered  sometimes  whether  I 
was  n't  growing  tired  of  the  old  game/' 

11  But  the  new  game  you  can  play  better  than  any 
of  them.  It's  the  only  way  you  can  find  peace." 

With  a  gesture  half-bold,  half-furtive,  he  put  out 
his  hand  and  touched  lightly  the  glove  she  had 
drawn  off  and  laid  on  the  table. 

"You  believe  in  me;  you  have  some  faith  left  in 
me?" 

"Yes." 

Her  hand  touched  his;  her  dark  eyes  searched  the 
depths  of  his  soul  —  sought  and  found  the  shadows 
there  and  put  them  to  flight.  When  she  spoke  it  was 
with  a  tenderness  that  was  new  to  all  his  experience 
of  life;  he  had  not  known  that  there  could  be  balm 
like  this  for  a  bruised  and  broken  spirit.  This  girl, 
seeking  nothing  for  herself,  refusing  anything  he 
could  offer,  had  held  up  a  mirror  in  which  he  saw 
himself  limned  against  dancing,  mocking  shadows. 
Nothing  in  her  arraignment  had  given  him  a  sharper 
pang  than  her  reference  to  his  loneliness,  his  failure 
to  command  sympathy  and  confidence  in  his  home 
relationships.  No  praise  had  ever  been  so  sweet  to 
him  as  hers;  she  not  only  saw  his  weaknesses  and 
dealt  with  them  unsparingly,  but  she  recognized 
also  the  strength  he  had  wasted  and  the  power  he 
had  abused.  She  saw  life  in  broad  vistas  as  he  had 
believed  he  saw  it;  he  was  not  above  a  stirring  of 

(586) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

pride  that  she  appreciated  him  and  appraised  his 
gifts  rightly.  He  had  long  played  skillfully  upon 
credulity  and  ignorance;  he  had  frittered  away  his 
life  in  contentions  with  groundlings.  It  would  be 
a  relief,  if  it  were  possible,  to  deal  with  his  peers, 
the  enlightened,  the  far-seeing,  and 'the  fearless,  who 
strove  for  great  ends.  So  he  pondered,  while  outside 
the  sentinel  kept  watch  like  a  fate. 

"Yes,"  Sylvia  was  saying  slowly,  "you  can  make 
restitution.  But  not  to  the  dead  —  not  to  my  mother 
asleep  over  there  at  Montgomery,  oh,  not  to  me! 
What  is  done  is  past,  and  you  can't  go  back.  There's 
no  going  back  in  this  world.  But  you  can  go  on  — 
you  can  go  on  and  up  — " 

"No!  You  don't  see  that;  you  don't  believe 
that?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  it.  The  old  life  —  the  life  of  mys 
tery  and  duplicity  is  over;  you  will  never  go  back 
to  the  old  way." 

"The  old  way?"  he  repeated. 

"The  old  unhappy  way." 

"Up  there  at  the  lake  you  knew  I  was  unhappy; 
you  knew  things  were  n't  right  with  me?" 

"Things  were  n't  right  because  you  were  wrong! 
Success  had  n't  made  you  happy.  The  shadows  kept 
dancing  round  you.  Mrs.  Bassett's  troubles  came 
largely  from  worrying  about  you.  In  time  Marian 
and  Blackford  will  begin  to  see  the  shadows.  I 
should  think  —  I  should  think"  —  and  he  saw  that 
she  was  deeply  moved  —  "that  a  man  would  want 
the  love  of  his  children  ;  I  should  think  he  would 
want  them  to  be  proud  of  him." 

(587) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"His  children;  yes;  I  have  n't  thought  enough  of 
that." 

She  had  so  far  controlled  herself,  but  an  old  ache 
throbbed  in  her  heart.  "  In  college,  when  I  heard  the 
girls  talking  of  their  homes,  it  used  to  hurt  me  more 
than  you  can  ever  know.  There  were  girls  among 
my  friends  whose  fathers  were  fine  men,  —  some  of 
them  great  and  famous ;  and  I  used  to  feel  sure  that 
my  father  would  have  been  like  them.  I  felt  —  that 
I  should  have  been  proud  of  him."  And  suddenly 
she  flung  her  arms  upon  the  table  and  bowed  her  face 
upon  them  and  wept. 

He  stood  beside  her,  patiently,  helplessly.  The 
suggestion  of  her  lonely  girlhood  with  its  hovering 
shadow  smote  him  the  more  deeply  because  it  em 
phasized  the  care  she  had  taken  to  subordinate  her 
self  throughout  their  talk. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  ever  be  proud  of  me? — 
that  you  might  even  care  a  little,  some  day?"  he 
asked,  bending  over  her. 

"Oh,  if  it  could  be  so!"  she  whispered  brokenly,  so 
low  that  he  bent  closer  to  hear. 

The  room  was  very  still.  Sylvia  rose  and  began 
drawing  on  her  glove,  not  looking  at  him.  She  was 
afraid  to  risk  more;  there  was,  indeed,  nothing  more 
to  say.  It  was  for  him  to  make  his  choice.  He  was 
silent  so  long  that  she  despaired.  Then  he  passed 
his  hand  across  his  face  like  one  roused  from  sleep. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  walk  home 
with  you." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  dispatched  the  guard  on 
an  errand ;  then  he  seated  himself  at  the  table  and 

(588) 


THE  MAN  OF  SHADOWS 

picked  up  a  pad  of  paper.  He  was  still  writing  when 
Harwood  entered.  Sylvia  and  Dan  exchanged  a  nod, 
but  no  words  passed  between  them.  They  watched 
the  man  at  the  table,  as  he  wrote  with  a  delibera 
tion  that  Dan  remembered  as  characteristic  of  him. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  copied  what  he  had  writ 
ten,  put  the  copy  in  his  breastpocket  and  buttoned 
his  coat  before  glancing  at  Harwood. 

"If  I  withdraw  my  name,  what  will  happen?"  he 
asked  quietly. 

11  Ramsay  will  be  nominated,  sir,"  Dan  answered. 

Bassett  studied  a  moment,  fingering  the  memo 
randum  he  had  written;  then  he  looked  at  Dan 
quizzically. 

"Just  between  ourselves,  Dan,  do  you  really  think 
the  Colonel's  straight?" 

"If  he  is  n't,  he  has  fooled  a  lot  of  people,"  Dan 
replied. 

He  had  no  idea  of  what  had  happened,  but  he 
felt  that  all  was  well  with  Sylvia.  It  seemed  a  long 
time  since  Bassett  had  called  him  Dan! 

"Well,  I  guess  the  Colonel's  the  best  we  can  do. 
I  'm  out  of  it.  This  is  my  formal  withdrawal.  Hand 
it  to  Robbins  —  you  know  him,  of  course.  It  tells 
him  what  I  want  done.  My  votes  go  to  Ramsay  on 
the  next  ballot.  I  look  to  you  to  see  that  it 's  played 
square.  Give  the  Colonel  my  compliments.  That 's 
all.  Good-night." 

Harwood  called  Robbins  from  the  room  where 
Bassett's  men  lounged,  waiting  for  the  convening  of 
the  caucus,  and  delivered  the  message.  As  he  hurried 

(589) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

toward  Thatcher's  headquarters  he  paused  suddenly, 
and  bent  over  the  balcony  beneath  the  dome  to 
observe  two  figures  that  were  slowly  descending  one 
of  the  broad  stairways.  Morton  Bassett  and  Sylvia 
were  leaving  the  building  together.  A  shout  rang 
out,  echoing  hollowly  through  the  corridors,  and 
was  followed  by  scattering  cheers  from  men  who  were 
already  hastening  toward  the  senate  chamber  where 
the  caucus  sessions  were  held. 

Somehow  Morton  Bassett's  sturdy  shoulders,  his 
step,  quickened  to  adapt  it  to  the  pace  of  his  com 
panion,  did  not  suggest  defeat.  Dan  still  watched 
as  the  two  crossed  the  rotunda  on  their  way  to  the 
street.  Bassett  was  talking;  he  paused  for  an  in 
stant  and  looked  up  at  the  dome,  as  though  calling 
his  companion's  attention  to  its  height. 

Sylvia  glanced  up,  nodded,  and  smiled  as  though 
affirming  something  Bassett  had  said ;  and  then  the 
two  vanished  from  Dan's  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

WE  GO   BACK  TO  THE   BEGINNING 

SYLVIA  was  reading  in  her  grandfather's  li 
brary  when  the  bell  tinkled/* 
With  these  words  our  chronicle  began,  and 
they  again  slip  from  the  pen  as  I  begin  these  last 
pages.  When  Morton  Bassett  left  her  at  the  door 
of  Elizabeth  House  she  had  experienced  a  sudden 
call  of  the  truant  spirit.  Sylvia  wanted  to  be  alone, 
to  stand  apart  for  a  little  while  from  the  clanging 
world  and  take  counsel  of  herself.  Hastily  packing 
a  bag  she  caught  the  last  train  for  Montgomery, 
walked  to  the  Kelton  cottage,  and  roused  Mary,  who 
had  been  its  lone  tenant  since  the  Professor's  death. 
She  sent  Mary  to  bed,  and  after  kindling  a  fire  in  the 
grate,  roamed  about  the  small,  comfortable  rooms, 
touching  wistfully  the  books,  the  pictures,  the  scant 
bric-£-brac.  She  made  ready  her  own  bed  under  the 
eaves  where  she  had  dreamed  her  girlhood  dreams, 
shaking  from  the  sheets  she  found  in  the  linen  chest 
the  leaves  of  lavender  that  Mary  had  strewn  among 
them.  The  wind  rose  in  the  night  and  slammed  fit 
fully  a  blind  that,  as  long  as  she  could  remember, 
had  uttered  precisely  that  same  protest  against  the 
wind's  presumption.  It  was  all  quite  like  old  times, 
and  happy  memories  of  the  past  stole  back  and  laid 
healing  hands  upon  her. 

(591) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

She  slept  late,  and  woke  to  look  out  upon  a  white 
world.  Across  the  campus  floated  the  harsh  clamor 
of  the  chapel  bell,  and  she  saw  the  students  tramping 
through  the  swirling  snow  just  as  she  had  seen  them 
in  the  old  times,  the  glad  and  happy  times  when  it 
had  seemed  that  the  world  was  bounded  by  the  lines 
of  the  campus,  and  that  nothing  lay  beyond  it 
really  worth  considering  but  Centre  Church  and 
the  court-house  and  the  dry-goods  shop  where  her 
grandfather  had  bought  her  first  and  only  doll.  She 
bade  Mary  sit  down  and  talk  to  her  while  she  ate 
breakfast  in  the  little  dining-room;  and  the  old 
woman  poured  out  upon  her  the  gossip  of  the  Lane, 
the  latest  trespasses  of  the  Greek  professor's  cow,  the 
escapades  of  the  Phi  Gamma  Delta's  new  dog,  the 
health  of  Dr.  Wandless,  the  new  baby  at  the  house 
of  the  Latin  professor,  the  ill-luck  of  the  Madison 
Eleven,  and  like  matters  that  were,  and  that  con 
tinue  to  be,  of  concern  in  Buckeye  Lane.  Rumors  of 
the  sale  of  the  cottage  had  reached  Mary,  but  Sylvia 
took  pains  to  reassure  her. 

''Oh,  you  don't  go  with  the  house,  Mary!  Mrs. 
Owen  has  a  plan  for  you.  You  have  n't  any  cause 
for  worry.  But  it 's  too  bad  to  sell  the  house.  I  'd  like 
to  get  a  position  teaching  in  Montgomery  and  come 
back  here  and  live  with  you.  There's  no  place  in  the 
world  quite  like  this." 

"But  it's  quiet,  Miss,  and  the  repairs  keep  going 
on.  Mr.  Harwood  had  to  put  a  new  downspout  on 
the  kitchen;  the  old  one  had  rusted  to  pieces.  The 
last  time  he  was  over  —  that  was  a  month  ago  — 
he  came  in  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  his  train,  he 

(592) 


WE  GO  BACK  TO  THE  BEGINNING 

said;  and  I  told  him  to  help  himself  to  the  books, 
but  when  I  looked  in  after  a  while  he  was  just  sitting 
in  that  chair  out  there  by  the  window  looking  out  at 
nothing.  And  when  I  asked  him  if  he  'd  have  a  cup 
of  tea,  he  never  answered;  not  till  I  went  up  close 
and  spoke  again.  He's  peculiar,  but  a  good-hearted 
gentleman.  You  can  see  that.  And  when  he  paid 
me  my  wages  that  day  he  made  it  five  dollars  extra, 
and  when  I  asked  him  what  it  was  for,  he  smiled  a 
funny  kind  of  smile  he  has,  and  said,  'It's  for  being 
good  to  Sylvia  when  she  was  a  little  girl.'  He's 
peculiar,  very  peculiar,  but  he's  kind.  And  when  I 
said  I  did  n't  have  to  be  paid  for  that,  he  said  all 
right,  he  guessed  that  was  so,  but  for  me  to  keep  the 
money  and  buy  a  new  bonnet  or  give  it  to  the  priest. 
A  very  kind  gentleman,  that  Mr.  Harwood,  but 
peculiar." 

The  sun  came  out  shortly  before  noon.  Sylvia 
walked  into  town,  bought  some  flowers,  and  drove 
to  the  cemetery.  She  told  the  driver  not  to  wait,  and 
lingered  long  in  the  Kelton  lot  where  snow-draped 
evergreens  marked  its  four  corners.  The  snow  lay 
smooth'on  the  two  graves/and  she  placed  her  flowers 
upon  them  softly  without  disturbing  the  white  cover 
ing.  A  farmboy  whistling  along  the  highway  saw  her 
in  the  lonely  cemetery  and  trudged  on  silently,  but  he 
did  not  know  that  the  woman  tending  her  graves  did 
not  weep,  or  that  when  she  turned  slowly  away,  look 
ing  back  at  last  from  the  iron  gates,  it  was  not  of  the 
past  she  thought,  nor  of  the  heartache  buried  there, 
but  of  a  world  newly  purified,  with  long,  broad  vistas 
of  hope  and  aspiration  lengthening  before  her. 

(593) 


A  HOOSIER    CHRONICLE 

But  we  must. not  too  long  leave  the  bell  —  an 
absurd  contrivance  of  wire  and  knob  —  that  tinkled 
rather  absently  and  eerily  in  the  kitchen  pantry. 
Let  us  repeat  once  more  and  for  the  last  time :  — 

Sylvia  was  reading  in  her  grandfather's  library 
when  the  bell  tinkled. 

Truly  enough,  a  book  lay  in  her  lap,  but  it  may 
be  that,  after  all,  she  had  not  done  more  than  skim 
its  pages  —  an  old  "Life  of  Nelson  "  that  had  been  a 
favorite  of  her  grandfather's.  Sylvia  rose,  put  down 
the  book,  marked  it  carefully  as  on  that  first  occa 
sion  which  so  insistently  comes  back  to  us  as  we 
look  in  upon  her.  Mary  appeared  at  the  library 
door,  but  withdrew,  seeing  that  Sylvia  was  answer 
ing  the  bell. 

Some  one  was  stamping  vigorously  on  the  step, 
and  as  Sylvia  opened  the  door,  Dan  Harwood  stood 
there,  just  as  on  that  other  day;  now,  to  be  sure, 
he  seemed  taller  than  then,  though  it  must  be  only 
the  effect  of  his  long  ulster. 

"How  do  you  do,  Sylvia,"  he  said,  and  stepped 
inside  without  waiting  for  a  parley  like  that  in  which 
Sylvia  had  engaged  him  on  that  never-to-be-for 
gotten  afternoon  in  June.  "You  oughtn't  to  try 
to  hide;  it  is  n't  fair  for  one  thing,  and  hiding  is  im 
possible  for  another." 

"It's  too  bad  you  came,"  said  Sylvia,  "for  I 
should  have  been  home  to-morrow.  I  came  just  be 
cause  I  wanted  to  be  alone  for  a  day." 

"I  came,"  said  Dan,  laughing,  "because  I  did  n't 
like  being  alone." 

"I  hope  Aunt  Sally  isn't  troubled  about  me.  I 

(594) 


WE  GO  BACK  TO  THE  BEGINNING 

had  n't  time  to  tell  her  I  was  coming  here;  I  don't 
believe  I  really  thought  about  it;  I  simply  wanted 
to  come  back  here  once  more  before  the  house  is 
turned  over  to  strangers." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Sally  was  n't  worried  half  as  much  as 
I  was.  She  said  you  were  all  right;  she  has  great 
faith  in  your  ability  to  take  care  of  yourself.  I  'm 
pretty  sure  of  it,  too,"  he  said,  and  bent  his  eyes 
upon  her  keenly. 

There  was  nothing  there  to  dismay  him ;  her  olive 
cheeks  still  glowed  with  color  from  her  walk,  and  her 
eyes  were  clear  and  steady. 

"Did  you  see  the  paper  —  to-day's  paper?"  he 
asked,  when  they  were  seated  before  the  fire. 

"No,"  she  replied,  folding  her  arms  and  looking 
at  the  point  of  her  slipper  that  rested  against  the 
brass  fender. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  know  that  the  trouble  is  all 
over.  Ramsay  has  the  senatorship,  all  but  the  con 
firmation  of  the  joint  session,  which  is  merely  a 
formality.  They've  conferred  on  me  the  joy  of 
presenting  his  name.  Ramsay  is  clean  and  straight, 
and  thoroughly  in  sympathy  with  all  the  new  ideas 
that  are  sound.  Personally  I  like  him.  He's  the 
most  popular  and  the  most  presentable  man  we 
have,  and  his  election  to  the  Senate  will  greatly 
strengthen  the  party." 

He  did  not  know  how  far  he  might  speak  of  the 
result  and  of  the  causes  that  had  contributed  to  it. 
He  was  relieved  when  she  asked,  very  simply  and 
naturally,  — 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Bassett  made  it  possible;  it 

(595) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

could  n't  have  been,  you  could  n't  have  brought  it 
about,  without  him." 

"If  he  had  n't  withdrawn  he  could  have  had  the 
nomination  himself!  Thatcher's  supporters  were 
growing  wobbly  and  impatient.  We  should  n't  any 
of  us  care  to  see  Thatcher  occupy  a  seat  in  the  Sen 
ate  that  has  been  filled  by  Oliver  Morton  and  Joe 
MacDonald  and  Ben  Harrison  and  Dave  Turpie. 
We  Hoosiers  are  not  perfect,  but  our  Senators  first 
and  last  have  been  men  of  brains  and  character. 
Ramsay  won't  break  the  apostolic  succession;  he's 
all  right." 

"You  think  Mr.  Bassett  might  have  had  it;  you 
have  good  reason  for  believing  that?"  she  asked. 

"  I  could  name  you  the  men  who  were  ready  to  go 
to  him.  He  had  the  stampede  all  ready,  down  to  the 
dress  rehearsal.  He  practically  gave  away  a  victory 
he  had  been  working  for  all  his  life." 

"Yes;  he  is  like  that;  he  can  do  such  things,"  mur 
mured  Sylvia. 

"History  has  been  making  rapidly  in  the  past 
twenty-four  hours.  Bassett  has  bought  Thatcher's 
interest  in  the  'Courier,'  and  he  proposes  editing  it 
himself.  More  than  that,  he  was  at  my  office  this 
morning  when  I  got  there,  and  he  asked  me,  as  a 
special  favor  to  him,  to  take  a  few  shares  in  the  com 
pany  to  qualify  me  as  secretary  of  the  corporation, 
and  said  he  wanted  me  to  help  him.  He  said  he 
thought  it  about  time  for  Indiana  to  have  a  share 
in  the  general  reform  movement;  talked  about  it  as 
though  this  were  something  he  had  always  intended 
doing,  but  had  been  prevented  by  press  of  other 

(596) 


WE  GO  BACK  TO  THE  BEGINNING 

matters.  He  spoke  of  the  Canneries  case  and  wanted 
to  know  if  I  cared  to  reconsider  my  refusal  to  settle 
it.  He  put  it  quite  impersonally  —  said  Fitch  told 
him  he  could  n't  do  more  than  prolong  the  litigation 
by  appeals,  and  that  in  the  end  he  was  bound  to  be 
whipped.  And  I  agreed,  on  terms  that  really  were  n't 
generous  on  my  part.  He  said  all  right;  that  he 
wanted  to  clear  up  all  his  old  business  as  quickly 
as  possible.  As  he  left  my  office  I  almost  called  him 
back  to  throw  off  the  last  pound  I  had  exacted ;  he 
really  made  me  feel  ashamed  of  my  greed.  The  old 
spell  he  had  for  me  in  the  beginning  came  back 
again.  I  believe  in  him;  I  never  believed  in  any 
man  so  much,  Sylvia!  And  if  he  does  throw  his 
weight  on  the  right  side  it  will  mean  a  lot  to  every 
good  cause  men  and  women  are  contending  for  these 
days.  It  will  mean  a  lot  to  the  state,  to  the  whole 
country." 

"And  so  much,  oh,  so  much  to  him!" 

Just  what  had  passed  between  Bassett  and  Sylvia 
he  only  surmised ;  but  it  was  clear  that  the  warmth 
with  which  he  had  spoken  of  his  old  employer  was 
grateful  to  Sylvia.  He  had  not  meant  to  dwell  upon 
Bassett,  and  yet  the  brightening  of  her  eyes,  her 
flash  of  feeling,  the  deep  inner  meaning  of  her  ejacu 
lation,  had  thrilled  him. 

"I've  said  more  than  I  meant  to;  I  did  n't  come 
to  talk  of  those  things,  Sylvia." 

"I'm  glad  you  thought  I  should  like  to  know  — 
about  him.  I  'm  glad  you  told  me." 

They  were  quiet  for  a  little  while,  then  he  said, 
"Sylvia!"  very  softly. 

(597) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

"Not  that,  Dan;  please!     I  can't  bear  to  hear 
that.    It  will  break  my  heart  if  you  begin  that!" 
,    She  rose  and  faced  him,  her  back  to  the  wall. 

He  had  come  to  complete  the  declaration  which 
the  song  had  interrupted  on  the  lake,  and  at  the  first 
hint  the  chords  that  had  been  touched  by  the  un 
known  singer  vibrated  sharply,  bringing  back  her  old 
heartache.  He  crossed  to  her  quickly  that  he  might 
show  her  how  completely  the  memory  of  that  night 
had  been  obliterated;  that  it  had  vanished  utterly 
and  ceased  to  be,  like  the  ripple  stirred  to  a  mo 
ment's  life  by  the  brush  of  a  swallow's  wing  on  still 
water.  He  stood  beside  her  and  took  both  her  hands 
in  his  strong  clasp. 

11  We  are  going  to  be  married,  Sylvia;  we  are  going 
to  be  married,  here,  now,  to-day! " 

"No,  no!" 

She  turned  away  her  head,  but  his  arms  enfolded 
her;  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  forehead,  her  eyes, 
and  her  lips  last  of  all. 

"Yes;  here  and  now.  Unless  you  say  you  don't 
care  for  me,  that  you  don't  love  me.  If  you  say  those 
things  I  shall  go  away." 

She  did  not  say  them.  She  clung  to  him  and  looked 
long  into  his  face,  and  kissed  him. 

Harwood  had  chosen  the  hour  well.  Sylvia  had 
met  bravely  the  great  crisis  of  her  life,  and  had  stood 
triumphant  and  satisfied,  weary  but  content  in  the 
clear  ether  to  which  she  had  climbed;  but  it  was  a 
relief  to  yield  herself  at  last  to  the  sway  of  emotions 
long  checked  and  stifled.  Save  for  her  grandfather's 
devoted  kindness,  and  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Owen, 

(598) 


WE  GO  BACK  TO  THE  BEGINNING 

her  experiences  of  affection  had  been  singularly 
meagre.  She  had  resolved  that  if  Dan  should  speak 
of  love  again  she  would  be  strong  enough  to  resist 
him;  but  she  had  yielded  unhesitatingly  at  a  word. 
And  it  was  inexpressibly  sweet  to  yield,  to  feel  his 
strong  arms  clasping  her,  to  hear  his  protestations 
and  assurances,  to  know  that  her  life  had  found 
shelter  and  protection.  She  knew  that  she  had  never 
questioned  or  doubted,  but  that  her  faith  had  grown 
with  her  love  for  him.  Not  only  had  he  chosen  the 
hour  well,  but  there  was  a  fitness  in  his  choice  of 
place.  The  familiar  scene  emphasized  her  sense  of 
dependence  upon  him  and  gave  a  sweet  poignancy 
to  the  memories  of  her  childhood  and  youth  that 
were  enshrined  within  the  cottage  walls.  In  this 
room,  in  the  garden  outside,  on  the  campus  across 
the  Lane,  she  had  known  the  first  tremulous  wond- 
erings  and  had  heard  the  first  whispered  answers  to 
life's  riddles  and  enigmas;  and  now  she  knew  that 
in  Love  lives  the  answer  to  all  things. 

After  a  little  she  rested  her  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
half-clinging  to  him,  half-repelling  him,  and  he 
pressed  his  hands  upon  her  cheeks,  to  be  ready  for 
the  question  he  had  read  in  her  eyes. 

"But,"  she  faltered,  "there  are  things  I  have 
promised  to  do  for  Aunt  Sally ;  we  shall  have  to  wait 
a  long  time!" 

"Not  for  Aunt  Sally,"  he  cried  happily.  "Here 
she  is  at  the  door  now.  I  left  her  and  John  Ware  at 
Dr.  Wandless's." 

"Well,  well!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Owen,  advancing 
into  the  room  and  throwing  open  her  coat.  "You 

(599) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

said  you  meant  to  get  back  to  the  city  in  time  to 
catch  that  limited  for  New  York,  and  you  have  n't 
got  much  margin,  Daniel,  I  can  tell  you  that!" 

It  seemed  to  the  people  who  heard  of  it  afterward 
a  most  romantic  marriage,  that  of  Sylvia  and  Dan 
Harwood;  but  whatever  view  we  may  take  of  this, 
it  was  certainly  of  all  weddings  the  simplest.  They 
stood  there  before  the  mantel  above  which  still 
hung  the  broken  half  of  a  ship's  wheel.  Mrs.  Owen, 
very  tall  and  gaunt,  was  at  one  side,  and  Dr.  Wand- 
less  at  the  other;  and  old  Mary,  abashed  and  be 
wildered,  looked  on  with  dilated  eyes  and  crossed 
herself  at  intervals. 

John  Ware  drew  a  service  book  from  his  pocket, 
and  his  fingers  trembled  as  he  began.  For  none  in 
the  room,  not  even  for  Sylvia,  had  this  hour  deeper 
meaning  than  for  the  gray  soldier.  He  read  slowly, 
as  though  this  were  a  new  thing  in  the  world,  that  a 
man  and  a  woman  had  chosen  to  walk  together  to 
the  end  of  their  days.  And  once  his  voice  broke.  He 
who,  in  a  hill  country  far  away,  had  baptized  this 
woman  into  the  fold  of  Christ  the  Shepherd,  wavered 
for  an  instant  as  he  said :  — 

"Elizabeth,  wilt  thou  have  this  man  — 

Sylvia  lifted  her  head.  She  had  not  expected  this, 
nor  had  Dan ;  but  Dr.  Wandless  had  already  stepped 
forward  to  give  her  in  marriage,  and  as  she  repeated 
her  name  after  the  minister,  she  felt  the  warm,  reas 
suring  pressure  of  Dan's  hand. 

And  so  they  went  forth  together  from  the  little 

(600) 


WE  GO  BACK  TO  THE  BEGINNING 

cottage  by  the  campus  where  they  had  first  met; 
nor  may  it  have  been  wholly  a  fancy  of  Dr.  Wand- 
less's  that  the  stars  came  out  earlier  that  white, 
winter  evening  to  add  their  blessing! 


A   POSTSCRIPT  BY  THE  CHRONICLER 

THOSE  who  resent  as  an  impertinence  the 
chronicler's  intrusion  upon  the  scene  may 
here  depart  and  slam  the  door,  if  such  vio 
lence  truly  express  their  sentiments.  Others,  averse 
to  precipitous  leavetaking,  may  linger,  hat  in  hand, 
for  the  epilogue. 

I  attended  a  public  hearing  by  the  senate  commit 
tee  on  child  labor  at  the  last  session  of  the  general 
assembly,  accompanying  my  neighbor,  Mrs.  Sally 
Owen,  and  we  found  seats  immediately  behind  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Daniel  Harwood. 

"There's  E-lizabeth  and  Daniel,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Owen,  as  they  turned  round  and  nodded  to  us.  I 
found  it  pleasant  to  watch  the  Harwoods,  who  are, 
as  may  have  been  surmised,  old  friends  of  mine. 
The  meeting  gathered  headway,  and  as  one  speaker 
after  another  was  presented  by  the  chairman,  I  ob 
served  that  Mrs.  Harwood  and  her  husband  fre 
quently  exchanged  glances  of  approval;  and  I  'm 
afraid  that  Mrs.  Harwood's  profile,  and  that  win 
ning  smile  of  hers,  interested  me  quite  as  much  as  the 
pleas  of  those  who  advocated  the  pending  bill.  Then 
the  representative  of  a  manufacturers'  organization 
inveighed  against  the  measure,  and  my  two  friends 
became  even  more  deeply  absorbed.  It  was  a  telling 
speech,  by  one  of  the  best-known  lawyers  in  the 
state.  Once  I  saw  Dan's  cowlick  shake  like  the  plume 

(602) 


A  POSTSCRIPT  BY  THE  CHRONICLER 

of  an  angry  warrior  as  his  wife  turned  toward  him 
inquiringly.  When  the  orator  concluded,  I  saw  them 
discussing  his  arguments  in  emphatic  whispers, 
and  I  was  so  pleased  with  the  picture  they  made 
that  I  failed  to  catch  the  name  of  the  speaker  whom 
the  chairman  was  introducing.  A  nudge  from  Mrs. 
Owen  caused  me  to  lift  my  eyes  to  the  rostrum. 

"The  next  speaker  is  Mrs.  Allen  Thatcher,"  an 
nounced  the  chairman,  beaming  inanely  as  a  man 
always  does  when  it  becomes  his  grateful  privilege 
to  present  a  pretty  woman  to  an  audience.  Having 
known  Marian  a  long  time,  it  was  almost  too  much 
for  my  composure  to  behold  her  there,  beyond  ques 
tion  the  best-dressed  woman  in  the  senate  chamber, 
with  a  single  American  Beauty  thrust  into  her  coat, 
and  a  bewildering  rose-trimmed  hat  crowning  her 
fair  head.  A  pleasant  sight  anywhere  on  earth,  this 
daughter  of  the  Honorable  Morton  Bassett,  some 
time  senator  from  Eraser;  but  her  appearance  in  the 
legislative  hall  long  dominated  by  her  father  con 
firmed  my  faith  in  the  ultimate  adjustments  of  the 
law  of  compensations.  I  had  known  Marian  of  old 
as  an  expert  golfer  and  the  most  tireless  dancer  at 
Waupegan;  but  that  speech  broke  all  her  records. 

Great  is  the  emotional  appeal  of  a  pretty  woman 
in  an  unapproachable  hat,  but  greater  still  the  power 
of  the  born  story-teller !  I  knew  that  Marian  visited 
Elizabeth  House  frequently  and  told  stories  of  her 
own  or  gave  recitations  at  the  Saturday  night  enter 
tainments;  but  this  was  Marian  with  a  difference. 
She  stated  facts  and  drove  them  home  with  anec 
dotes.  It  was  a  vigorous,  breathless  performance, 

(603) 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

and  the  manufacturers'  attorney  confessed  afterward 
that  she  had  given  him  a  good  trouncing.  When  she 
concluded  (I  remember  that  her  white-gloved  hand 
smote  the  speaker's  desk  with  a  sharp  thwack  at  her 
last  word),  I  was  conscious  that  the  applause  was 
started  by  a  stout,  bald  gentleman  whom  I  had  not 
noticed  before.  I  turned  to  look  at  the  author  of 
this  spontaneous  outburst  and  found  that  it  was  the 
Honorable  Edward  G.  Thatcher,  whose  unfeigned 
pride  in  his  daughter-in-law  was  good  to  see. 

When  the  applause  had  ceased,  Mrs.  Owen  sighed 
deeply  and  ejaculated:  "Well,  well!" 

As  we  walked  home  Aunt  Sally  grew  talkative. 
11 1  used  to  say  it  was  all  in  the  Book  of  Job  and  be 
lieved  it;  but  there  are  some  things  that  Job  did  n't 
know  after  all.  When  I  put  Marian  on  the  board  of 
trusteees  of  E-lizabeth  House  School,  it  was  just  to 
make  good  feeling  in  the  family,  and  I  didn't  suppose 
she  would  attend  a  meeting;  but  she's  one  of  the 
best  women  on  that  job.  And  E-lizabeth  "  - 1  loved 
the  way  she  drawled  the  name,  and  repeated  it  — 
"E-lizabeth  says  they  could  n't  do  without  her.  I 
guess  between  'em  those  girls  will  make  -E-lizabeth 
House  School  go  right.  That  investment  will  be  a 
dividend  payer.  And  there 's  Morton  Bassett,  that 
I  never  took  much  stock  in,  why,  he's  settled  down 
to  being  a  decent  and  useful  citizen.  There  ain't  a 
better  newspaper  in  the  country  than  the  'Courier,' 
and  that  first  editorial,  up  at  the  top  of  the  page 
every  morning,  he  writes  himself,  and  it's  got  a 
smack  to  it  —  a  kind  of  pawpaw  and  persimmon 
flavor  that  shows  it's  honest.  I  guess  settling  up 


A  POSTSCRIPT  BY  THE  CHRONICLER 

that  Canneries  business  cost  him  some  money,  but 
things  had  always  come  too  easy  for  Morton.  And 
now  that  they  've  moved  down  here,  Hallie  's  cheered 
up  a  good  deal,  and  she  shows  signs  of  being  cured 
of  the  sanatorium  habit." 

We  were  passing  round  the  Monument,  whose 
candelabra  flooded  the  plaza  with  light,  and  Mrs. 
Owen  inveighed  for  a  moment  against  automobiles 
in  general  as  we  narrowly  escaped  being  run  down 
by  a  honking  juggernaut  at  Christ  Church  corner. 

"  It  seems  Morton  has  grown  some,"  she  resumed. 
"He's  even  got  big  enough  to  forgive  his  enemies, 
and  John  Ware  says  only  great  men  do  that.  You  Ve 
noticed  that  'Hoosier  Folks  at  Home'  column  in 
the 'Courier'?  Well,  Ike  Pettit  runs  that;  Morton 
brought  him  to  town  on  purpose  after  Edward 
Thatcher  closed  out  the  Fraserville  paper.  I  read 
every  word  of  that  column  every  day.  It  gives  you 
a  kind  of  moving-picture  show  of  cloverfields,  and 
children  singing  in  the  country  schools,  and  rural 
free  delivery  wagons  throwing  off  magazines  and 
newspapers,  and  the  interurban  cars  cutting  slices 
out  of  the  lonesomeness  of  the  country  folks.  It's 
certainly  amazing  how  times  change,  and  I  want  to 
live  as  long  as  I  can  and  keep  on  changing  with  'em ! 
Why,  these  farmers  that  used  to  potter  around  all 
winter  worrying  over  their  debts  to  the  insurance 
companies  are  now  going  to  Lafayette  every  January 
to  learn  how  to  make  corn  pay,  and  they're  putting 
bathrooms  in  their  houses  and  combing  the  hay  out 
of  their  whiskers.  They  take  their  wives  along  with 
'em  to  the  University,  so  they  can  have  a  rest  and 


A  HOOSIER  CHRONICLE 

learn  to  bake  bread  that  won't  bring  up  the  death- 
rate  ;  and  when  those  women  go  home  they  dig  the 
nails  out  of  the  windows  to  let  the  fresh  air  in,  and 
move  the  melodeon  to  the  wood-pile,  and  quit  frying 
meat  except  when  the  minister  stops  for  dinner.  It 's 
all  pretty  comfortable  and  cheerful  and  busy  in 
Indiana,  with  lots  of  old-fashioned  human  kindness 
flowing  round;  and  it's  getting  better  all  the  time. 
And  I  guess  it's  always  got  to  be  that  way,  out  here 
in  God's  country." 


THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


A  SAFETY  MATCH 

By  IAN  HAY 


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THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  SEVEN  SUITORS 

By  MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 

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THE  LONG  ROLL 

By  MARY  JOHNSTON 


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^— 


L.: 


i 


flY  3 1  7071 


1871  -bAM12 


ASTRON.,  MATH.- 
STAT.  U BRAKY 


3     1962 


4Pfr 


DO  NOT  REMOVE 


LD9-30m-4,'65(F3042s4)4185 


282481 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


